But thanks for reminding me that the hottest thing a person can wear isn’t a suit.
He doesn’t know I exist. He’s too busy pushing a reluctant three-year-old on the squeaky red swing. He’s wearing the uniform of the species: faded band t-shirt (Nirvana, always Nirvana), cargo shorts with too many pockets, and New Balance sneakers that have seen better grass stains. 317. Dad Crush
So, why am I writing this?
His name is Dad.
Here is why I am utterly, irrevocably smitten: But thanks for reminding me that the hottest
Last week, I watched him spend eleven minutes convincing his daughter that applesauce is a valid food group. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t threaten to leave. He simply sat on the floor, cross-legged, and asked, “Do you want the purple pouch or the green one?” When she threw the green one on the floor, he picked it up, wiped it on his shirt, and tried again. Eleven minutes. I felt my cold, cynical heart do a backflip. He’s wearing the uniform of the species: faded
And there he is.