I'm Back and Better Than Ever (maybe not)

Did you miss me?

I've come out of retirement to bring you Dads out there possibly the single greatest gift for your wife this Christmas season. Now, if you're trapped in a blizzard in a cabin up in the woods, then the greatest gift would be a diamond necklace and a cheesy line like "I'll always be here for you" -- then a chorus of women would sing "Every Kiss Begins with K" while you lovingly embrace.

Truth be told, the greatest gift at that point is either a satellite phone or a shovel and a case of 5 hour energy.

But I digress.

Me and Mrs. Me were in a heated exchange (argument, not sex) and it came up that I don't appreciate her enough. You'll recognize this argument, of course, because every single one of you has heard it before. It's the standard go to when womenfolk want to drop the hammer on you. It's indefensible - like calling someone a homophobe. One particular line stuck out in it all: She said, "You get a performance review at work to let you know you're doing a good job. I don't get one."

Firstly, let me be clear, Performance Reviews are rarely to tell you that you're doing a good job. Usually they are there to tell you that you're only marginally fucking up less than the guy in accounting that got laid off last week. In a down economy, a Performance Review is just paperwork justification for why they're going to toss your ass out in the snow.

Again, I digress.

So, my friends, I submit to you -- THE STAY AT HOME MOM PERFORMANCE REVIEW. That's right....a Performance Review that YOU can fill in and give to your wife. If you want a copy, email me at anthonyp@integratedinspectionservices.com.

Now, when you read this, you're going to say "But Anthony, this is all good - it appears you have the perfect wife." Yes....yes I do. And that's the story we all need to stick with. You back me up and I'll back you up. If you elect to fill this in with negative comments, a) I accept no responsibility and b) you're ass is grass and she's a lawnmower plus see rule a.

Merry Christmas guys, you can return that horrific set of "comfy pants" you thought she'd love ; they were too big anyway, so I just saved you an ass chewing.