This is a repost from a Tumblr series that I called “My perfect dad.” I’m preserving these older stories and continuing to write new ones available on this site first.
I was in the middle of hanging pictures when I got the text message from Sir.
I had to drop everything and comply right away. Sir’s nightly meditation playlists made sure of that. I tried to at least get the pictures I was hanging in the background. I’d been at them all morning. Ever since Sir moved in, He’s been changing everything about my house, from the colors of the walls to which rooms I am allowed to enter to where I sleep.
In case you were wondering, I sleep at the foot of Sir’s—formerly my—bed.
I’m only nine years older than Sir, but ever since He moved in, He’s also been on a campaign to change me. The beard, the artificial gray hair, the plaid shirts over white tees. Six months ago, I was a corporate trainer, and now I’m a blue-collar handyman doing odd jobs to make extra money for Sir.
As I hold held up my phone to take the selfie for Sir, I practiced making my expression just the way He likes—vacant, with a half-smile, befitting my new status as a dumb dad.
I picked up the hammer and moved on to the next picture to hang.
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