Last night, in an unprovoked – yet completly uncontrollable – moment of Dad, I altered the lyrics to KISS’s Hotter Than Hell in an effort to persuade my children not to come into the kitchen while I was cooking.
“The pans are hot, hot, hotter than heck. You don’t want to burn yourselves.”
There really needs to be a pill to prevent this kind of thing. If anyone needs me, I’ll be rocking back and forth in a dark corner.