As most boys do, we enjoyed a little rough-housing with my dad when we were little. The rough housing endgame was usually one of three torture mechanisms:
- The Whose-Gow, where your head gets clamped in between Dad’s legs.
- The Nevada Torture, where Dad pins your arms down with his knees while poking his finger into your chest.
- Whisker Pie, where Dad rubbed the stubble from his face all over you like sand paper.
We knew that if Dad could get us into one of these positions, the fight was over and we would have to yield, so our main goal was to stay out of the Whose-Gow, Nevada Torture, or Whisker Pie.
Well, I feel like the universe currently has me in all three of these at the same time… And what am I referring to?