The plan was to have boys.
Sturdy, durable, barrel-chested boys that I could whip into shape with a equal mix of humor and character-building hardship. They'd sport full heads of hair, thick mustaches, and chase rich women all around the globe while pursuing their interests in law, medicine and world championship chess.
But I had no luck producing the Y chromosome and that plan was quickly scrapped for another.
Let's be clear I love my two daughters. And with summertime approaching, both will soon be back under my roof. And despite the indescribably damage they can do to a shared bathroom or the ungodly mess they can make in the simple preparation of a sandwich, I wouldn't have it any other way.
Because the nattering, the bickering and the arguing about who gets to drive the Volvo will be over in the blink of an eye and they both will be returning to college before I can yell, "who backed up the toilet with the girly stuff?"
Here's the part I never saw coming.
When they return to UC (University of Colorado) and UDUB (University of Washington), two fine schools with two skyrocketing out-of-state tuition's, they will both be residing in sorority houses. That's right, sorority Houses!
Gammas.
Deltas.
Thetas.
Kappas.
And Epsilons.
What the hell plan was that? I never pictured myself as the father of sorority girls. When I was in college I'm pretty sure I secured a lifetime ban from ever entering a sorority house.
In fact, if you were to scour through the archives of student disciplinary reports at Syracuse University you'd discover that my inordinate ability to guzzle whiskey and beer combined with a unnatural reserve of nocturnal energy and predilection for destruction earned me a lifetime ban from the fraternity houses as well.
No small feat on any campus.
And now I'm just one embossed, gold-inked invitation away from some contrived father-daughter dance at the Gamma Delta Spring Pin Invitational. Or whatever the fuck they call it.
How did this happen?
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