At Least It's A Tradition

Every year, Jesus and I have a bit of a row on Father's Day. Yesterday was no exception. He never gets me a Father's Day present, because (as he puts it) I'm God so I can miracle myself anything I want anytime I want it, and I'd know what he was going to give me anyway and that takes all the fun out of it.

I always rebut by explaining to him that those are moot points, because the real purpose of Father's Day is not because dads want stuff, it's because they want some indication that their children appreciate everything they do for them.

Then he says that I know everything, so I already know how much he appreciates me, and I say that even though I know it, it's still nice to hear it every once in a while. Then he says "I appreciate you," and I say "You couldn't have told me that with slippers?" And he says I'm contradicting myself, rolls his eyes, and walks away.

We go through this every single year. But it's okay, because I know that 84 years from now he's going to relent and give me a beard maintenance kit for Father's Day, and when he does I'll whip out the identical one that I'd miracled myself the day before and say "I wanted slippers."