Rhiannon Chronicles 2011 [Summer] Part III


18 July 2011 – 6:20 PM – After watching Zookeeper

Rhiannon: I liked that movie. What did you think Daddy?

Me: It was okay, I guess.

Rhiannon: Why only okay?

Me: It just seemed the message of the movie was: If you want to get the girl, you have to act like a total jerk.

Rhiannon: Well, you’re living proof of that, Daddy. Pwaahahahaha!

Me: Hey!!!

Rhiannon: Well…

Me [to an attractive young girl walking past]: Hey babe – nice rack!

Attractive young girl [with a flirtatious wink]: Thanks!!!

Rhiannon: See!

Me: Bah, she would have slapped me across the face if she hadn’t noticed you.

Rhiannon: Why?

Me: Because chicks love seeing single Dads with their kids – it melts their hearts. You can spew any kind of offensive bullshit to them and they’ll hear it as Shakespearean love poetry.

Rhiannon [looking more dubious than usual]: I don’t know about that, Daddy.

Me: Here, I’ll prove it again. See that cute girl coming towards us now. Watch this… Hey babe! I want to prove something to my daughter here so let me give you a good slap across the ass will you?

Cute Girl [slapping me across the face and stomping off]: Are you out of your mind, you creep?!?

Rhiannon: Good job, Daddy!

Me: Okay, alright – 99% of the time it sounds like Shakespearean love poetry.

Rhiannon: Ha! Ha! You have a hand print on your face!

 *

19 July 2011 – 1:55 PM – At the base of Mont Tremblant

My mother: It would be nice to come here in the winter.

Rhiannon: What would you do here in the winter?

Me: You see that great, big giant mountain towering in front of us with all those ski lifts?

Rhiannon: Duh!

Me: That, my dear, is called a ski hill. So, this is a real shot in the dark – pure speculation – but I’ll put my neck out and take a wild guess that in the winter people come here to ski. Call me crazy, but leave it on the table as a faint possibility. Perhaps, as a real long shot, some snowboarding is conceivable when one considers the mountain is buried up to the tits in snow all winter long. But again, it may just be me…

My mother: Dear…

Rhiannon: Duh, Daddy, but is that all people can do here in the winter?

Me: Of course not. The rest of the time is spent partying.

My mother: Oh God, no…

Rhiannon: So it’s basically just skiing and partying. That’s it?

Me: Absolutely. You wake up in the morning with a shocking hangover and a complete stranger snoring beside you. You stagger out of bed and rally your friends strewn around the chalet. Be sure you don’t forget to rouse the inevitable body passed out in the bathtub. You then eat the grossest, greasiest, fattiest breakfast known to humanity followed by a shot of Jack Daniels with a beer chaser. After that, you ski all day pausing only to chug the occasional beer. You go back to the chalet in the evening, get into a giant hot tub with a bunch of girls you and your friends have met during the day and relax, eat pizza, get knee-walking drunk and go to a party. Repeat process for the duration of the trip.

My mother [shaking her head]: This is just terrible.

Rhiannon: I’m not coming here with you in winter, Daddy.

 *

20 July 2011 – 2:40 PM – At the base of Mont Tremblant after going down The Luge

Rhiannon: Wheeeee! That was fun!

Me [kissing my biceps]: Wheeeee! I took over that entire pack of brats you were in and left you guys in the dust! Oh yeah, do I rock!!

Helmet collector [dryly, after I triumphantly toss my helmet at her]: They are just kids you whipped out there, you know that?!

Rhiannon: Yeah, Daddy.

Me: So? It’s the little victories in life that lead to the Big Show, honey.

Rhiannon [rolling her eyes]: Whatever. Why do they call it The Luge, anyway?

Me: The Louvre? It’s not called The Louvre! Do you see any Monet’s lying around here? It’s The Luge, you daft little git.

Rhiannon: I said The Luge, you deaf old douche!

Me: What’s that?

Rhiannon [sighing]: I thought The Luge, L-U-G-E, was one of those sleds in the Winter Olympics.

Me [after a moment]: You’re right, I did too. It’s at times like these, sweetheart, that I write it off to: “they are French”.

Rhiannon: What’s that supposed to mean?

Me: Well, just look at Quebec City. They have a Funiculaire. I mean – come on! What’s that supposed to mean?

Passing French guy: C’est le même mot en anglais, tabarnak!

Rhiannon : I bet he’s right, Daddy !

Me : Well, anyway, at least you can add luging to the list of activities you can do here in the winter time besides skiing and partying. It’ll make your Nana happy I told you so !

About Requiem for the Damned

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