* I'll deal with tomorrow, tomorrow. Tonight I need to step back and regroup. Those of you who've read the other post will understand. * Dinner at our house this evening was a strange event. My daughter is going through the "Dude" stage. Her and her friends have got to say "Dude" in every sentence, dude. And quite honestly I'm getting tired of it, dude. I mean, like dude...Who says dude in every sentence, dude. It gets old dude. So her constant "dude'en" is like driving my wife nuts, dudes. I know all you husband dudes can understand this one....I can not stand a nutty wife. She is just a woman. Sanity is a fine line. They can go over the edge before we even know they're near the cliffs. It's a woman thing, dude. So we're setting at the table, me in my special King Daddy chair at the head of the table, and I begin to have "The Talk" with my daughter. That's on of our special daddy dutys : we're in charge of having "The Talk" with our children. My wife can not handle the talk... something about the cliffs. We're having the talk. She knows how much trouble she's in. And frankly, she doesn't seem to be scared of me. My wife says our daughter has had me wrapped around her little finger since the day she was born. That's not it at all. I can be stern when I have to be. The TALK turns into a dude contest of who can use dude the most times in one sentence, dude. I'm showing her the error of her ways. Really aggravates my wife. I use dude like seven times in one sentence man. Very near the cliffs. Being the kind and loving husband that I am, I begin to nudge her toward the rocks. I begin a story about dudes, dudettes, dudes-it, not-dudes-it and the school principal. Hana (daughter) is laughing so hard she falls out of her chair during dinner. Quite funny, it was. So I move to needing seat belts on our chairs. By the way, fried beans and taters, cornbread. Southern thing don't you know. Last weekend on of my daughters girlfriends was staying with us. They were playing in bathroom doing hair and makeup like little girls do. And this girl fell off the commode, getting stuck between it and the bathtub. Long explanation of how I came up with my best ideal ever... "THE CRAP STRAP" ...a seat belt for the commode. Think about the possibilitys. No more worrying about falling off no matter how long we sit there. Hours and hours, without falling off. No longer will we need that little "Help-I've fallen and can't get up" in those embarrassing moments. I can't wait to patent this wonderful life changing invention. But like all great inventors, we need to test this product first. I need some volunteers. I'm asking four or five of the BYC members to pm me their address. I will mail you a sturdy piece of rope, and I want you to tie yourself on the commode when you feel the urge. I need to know how long you can stay on.