Last night, at dinner, Allie mentioned that a girl at daycare said something about me.
"Here comes somebody ugly," is what Allie told me the little girl said.
Then Allie described how the little girl went on and on about how somebody ugly had arrived to take Allie home.
Initially, Allie's report from daycare hurt my feelings. I didn't say anything, though. I just kept eating my spaghetti contemplating how to react. I was mainly concerned about how this might taint my daughter's perception of me. After all, nobody wants an ugly daddy. Gleaming teeth, a strong chin and a build that looks appropriate in superhero tights; that's what four-year-olds are looking for when they shop for a daddy.
I've been told I have nice teeth. . .
Anyway, my thoughts turned to the little girl who wants the world (or at least my daughter) to know she thinks I'm ugly. What's a 38-year-old man supposed to do when a five-year-old wounds his ego?
Nothing. That's what.
So this evening when I arrive to pick up my kids I have to suck it up. I'll forget my plan to buy gifts for everyone at the daycare except for the little girl who thinks I'm ugly. I'll put aside thoughts of letting the air out of her bicycle tires or hiding one of her Barbies or something equally passive aggressive and inappropriate.
I am amazed, though, that those thoughts entered my head for a short while. It may have something to do with the fact that this is just another in a series of recent events that have made me feel inadequate, ineffectual, unattractive and just bad in general. However, before this turns into an invitation to a pity party I will say this: I bet I can type faster than the little girl who thinks I'm ugly.