Mrs Player still makes herself pretty going out, enjoying "you are at most 25" compliments. A casual little black dress too much see-through in sunlight, and a sexy simplest slipper with just a V strap but decorated with cute crystals. I took a good at her and she knew I wanted to fuck her and she said no. When she came home she will wear a very comfy pajama fit for grandma.

The typical Princess syndrome is "if you don't give me what I want, I'll find someone else that does." Why she doesn't think of working for what she wants like everybody else? Is that what you really want and willing to pay the price? "Working for it" include team work such as caddies and water boys. But Mrs Player is like a stun bomb every other day. Maybe I understand someone taking care of a mental patient. Maybe I understand someone with maniac depressing - when she explodes every simple task for me is a struggle.

At least one kid inherits my legs and 4/5 of my toes, which are good things. My kids are rather popular. What car pool? They get free rides to school.

I enjoy going to school on occasions. When you were young, you fantasize about tall curvy full grown woman with fancy outfit and makeover. I still do but when you grow old, you tend to mesmerize by the image of your innocent little girl friends. Many of these school girls are at their best years in terms of proportion - the longest leg ever and they can get away with a tight tiny short and a slipper.

Surreally I saw the queen bee types walking pass me as in TV. They always walk in three's. You can't resist glancing them without turning my head from where it was. They want you to look to test their powers.

When my daughter was small she used to be proud of me. When there are other parents and kids around she would cling onto me much more as if to say this is my handsome father. Now not so much, perhaps I don't try that hard to fit in with other parents. I'm a geek at heart. My kids turn out OK. They are sociable and I leave the socializing for them to handle. I'm always proud to show off my kids, but didn't think that way when they are small. Now I'm consciously proud of them when they are next to me.

I always want a racing bike when I was a little boy, but there's no place to put it, and little place to ride it. Only in college did buying a bike make sense when living on campus. The new bike was more memorable than my first car. But the bike was stolen in no time - I learned that campus was a black hole for bikes where no chain lock cannot be cut apart.

It's a long story but I had insurance. One day I was picking up my replacement bike in a shop on high street, which gradually became a high fashion street where many older shops moved or didn't survive. The bike accessories were covered so I was looking around to try fitting them on the bike.

I was alone and a man came in asking me if I had the bike replacement part on his greasy hand. He thought I was staff. I wasn't clear enough telling him that I was only a customer. In the confusion he asked me again for help. I wished I let him know more clearly that I cared. Somehow I had the image of a kid waiting for his dad to fix his tricycle. It wasn't sad. The guy didn't look rich but most likely one could afford to get a new tricycle if it was beyond repair. Somehow that guy became a symbol associated with fatherhood.

My smallest kid out grew her tricycle. So she inherit her sister's bike. So I had to get a new bike for the sister. I can give everybody a new bike, but that doesn't seem right. The small guy is used to inheriting by now. She is just happy riding her sister's bigger bike with training wheels. Her sister's shiny new bike didn't bother her. She also asked when I'm going to sell the old tricycle. Most likely it's hard to find charity to accept donations other than cash. If you give things away most likely those are junk collectors selling the goods in swap meets, and dumping them in the trash when they are not selling fast enough. Selling it on Craigslist for whatever sum is like finding the tricycle a good home, and the best for recycling.

Thanks to Mrs Player that tricycle is top of the range. I'm sure every father has fond memories on tricycles. So I spent the day in the garage assembling the new bike, and cleaning up the old bikes, peeling off old stickers, oiling moving parts, tightening the screws, adjusting the heights of seats and handle bars. And preparing the tricycle for a new good home one way or the other. I'm just another man turning into that man with the broken tricycle part.

My elder daughter will be riding her brand new bike to visit her friends all by herself in the neighborhood. Luckily, the days when she will be picking up by her 16 year old boyfriend with a car is still far away, or so I hope far enough.

Johns suffer image problems but many are normal ordinary people really.