It's the March school holidays and the kids have a week to be at home to bug me. Isaac and Joy have their friend, Matt, over for a sleepover. Yes, I have an extra tween in my household but he's a good boy and it's fun to have him over.
As we walked back from Lickers, my fave waffle and ice-cream haunt, after some post-dinner waffle and ice-cream, Joy told me about their day of play.
"Matt trolled me today."
"Ya, I said I wasn't gonna come over but actually I was. j/k lah," Matt said.
"So he was j/k ah?" I asked.
"Eh Pa, you're not a Millennial," Joy replied, with mock horror on her face.
"IKR?" I continued.
"Paaaa…" said my youngest daughter.
"Don't be so sensi can or not?" I said with hurt in my eyes.
"Noooo…" Joy pleaded.
"But I thought my slang is so lit right now. Totes," I said, on a roll now.
"Stahp!" said my hapless daughter, beginning to laugh.
"j/k only, j/k only. Don't need to throw shade at me," I said to her.
"Ugh," Joy said, giggling.
"Actually Papa needs to cut his hair again," I declared, in a moment of digression.
"Ooh! Dye it another color!" Joy suggested.
"IDK, I thought I'd stay with blue. My blue hair is on fleek," I didn't even know what I saying by now. What's a "fleek"?
"Kill me now," said Joy.
"You're so triggered, I can't even-"
By that time, all she could do was chase me at the void deck and to tickle me in retaliation for my slang fest.
Parents, embarrassing our kids with our hipness since forever. Hey, what can I say, I'm POMO. Sorry not sorry.