Dads looking forward to breakfast of cold milky coffee from cup covered in jammy finger prints
I’m fortunate now that my kids are older. For me, Father’s Day consists of a card, a hug and an inevitable argument later in the day.
Dads of younger kids however, are dreading Sunday.
They’ll be woken up by a little shit jumping on their bollocks, shouting;
“Daddy, we’ve made you bwekfast in bed!”
Before shoving some cold, burnt, jam covered monstrosity masquerading as toast in the poor cunt’s face.
The dads will then pretend to enjoy eating it, whilst slurping on cold milk from a sticky cup with ‘World’s Best Dad’ emblazoned on it.
All they’ll have to look forward to then is hoovering up glitter off the duvet left behind from the shit, incomprehensible card.
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