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You owe it to yourself to humiliate your children.

When they’re older they’ll do it to themselves, whether they like it or not. It’s totally inevitable that at some point in their lives our children will be the focus of widespread ridicule as the result of some embarrassing miscue, whether it’s accidentally going into the girls’ bathroom or clumsily tripping on stage as they reach for their diploma or someone filming a video of them when they’re so drunk their attempts at speech sound like Chewbacca making love to the Hulk.

It’ll happen. Just as it’s happened to all of us. Until it does, it’s your job. And it must be done.

As part of training for eventual “Father of the Year” status and in preparation for the storming of my wife’s inner thighs, I have begun watching a few DVDs about the intricacies of childbirth.

Not all of the DVDs are tutorials, though the very first one we watched was, and featured an obnoxious woman who fancied herself a comedienne. With every nugget of information she parceled out about the shape of the inside of my wife’s vagina, she performed an excruciating little skit that was – and I don’t speak from experience – more painful than labor. I don’t want to speak for my wife, but can we please keep any and all attempts at laughter away from her genitals?

Last night we took a breather from Gilda Radner’s Guide to Reproduction and moved on to The Business of Being Born, a documentary exploring the world of midwifery and why if you deliver your baby in the hospital you’re a slave to the system and the reason for global warming.

Dad and Buried

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Humiliate Your Children

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