What Daddies Do for their Kids

My family had dinner at Chicago Dough Company last week. (And by that I mean my immediate family of 5, my parents, my sisters and their families, etc. etc. God bless Chicago Dough Company, for seeing us coming and not just turning out the lights and hiding until we drove away.) Anyway, during dinner Gabby had to go to the bathroom, and Dave volunteered to take her.

Unfortunately, when he got to the men’s room and got Gabby half undressed, he discovered there was no toilet paper. As any of you who have a young child know, public toilets must be liberally draped in toilet paper before a child can use it. (In my house, this is known for some reason as “putting a mustache on it.”) The restroom was otherwise empty, so Dave stepped just outside to find help. He asked a waitress, who in turn asked someone else, who produced a roll.

And when he told me the story, Dave pointed out that he had just stood, alone, in the hallway just outside the men’s room, telling waitresses that he needed toilet paper.

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