You’re Not Our Dad, New Old Spice Guy!
When mom brought the new Old Spice guy around, we weren’t buying it. Sure, he called us “Chief” and mussed with our hair and said things like, “Have you ever ridden on a motorcycle before? Would you like to?” and then mom would put up some kind of weak protest and he’d laugh and say “Oh come on, it’s safe enough. Let the boy have some fun.” But we weren’t buying it. All through dinner at the mid-priced restaurant where new Old Spice guy said we were even allowed to order appetizers, which mom NEVER let us order appetizers, it was still just like “what are you trying to do here, new Old Spice guy? What’s the end game?” We were suspicious. And we were right to be suspicious. Because new Old Spice guy didn’t go away like the others. He stuck around. He sat on our furniture. Mom brought him snacks while he hogged the TV. She said it was important for children to have an Old Spice guy in the house. Says you, mom. We hear the two of you at night, “deodorizing.” We’re halfway through our second quarter of Health, OK?! He just better not ever try and boss us around or else you’ll see.
You can’t tell us what to do, new Old Spice guy. You’re not our dad. Isaah Mustafa is our dad!