Few things are stranger than a kid’s curiosity about her dad’s badly timed erection. In my defense, it was early in the morning, and the sudden loud yelling from the kids’ room caused both my little buddy and I to awake bolt upright. At the time, I wasn’t even aware of my pajama tent, but that soon changed. As I escorted my kid into the living room where she could watch cartoons while I snoozed on the couch, I noticed her eyes were locked on my crotch with utter suspicion. I immediately positioned my hands so as to cover "the area" but that only served to intensify its resolve. “What is that Daddy?” she asked as if observing a strange-looking sea creature for the first time. I did my best to change topics. “What cartoon would you like to watch darling?” “What is that inside your pajamas?” she persisted. “Barney? Blues Clues? Sesame Street?” I continued. Without warning she attempted to slap my dick. Apparently this was her preferred method for handling suspicious objects. “What the hell!” I yelled. “Don’t hit Daddy. I already told you it’s nothing”. I desperately grabbed the remote control before one of her unpredictable slaps could hit the mark. TV is kryptonite for my kids’ attention elsewhere. It’s almost as if they enter a force field that prevents them from hearing or seeing anything other that the sounds and flickering lights coming from the almighty idiot box. As soon as Dora The Explorer graced the screen, the interrogation ceased and the three of us could finally relax. It was 6:00AM and I was already exhausted.
