#190 Failed Dictator

I’m a truly rubbish dictator.

I try to dictate. I try to oppress. How I try to oppress. But if the fear and obedience of your subjects is the test of your dictatorial success, I’m failing miserably.

My son’s strategies to undermine my rule and make me look ridiculous are constantly evolving. He is enormously creative in his subversion. One of his recently development techniques is something I call the dungaree hijack. He climbs on my back while I’m sitting and refuses to let go.

“I know.” I think. “It’ll be fun to get up now and take him with me.” I grab his hands and stand up. What I don’t know is that he has slipped his legs down the back of my work dungarees. This means it is now impossible for me to remove him. He has become a monkey on my back. This is not the end, though. The true genius of his plan is when he starts tickling my buttocks with his toes. I’m very ticklish. I can’t remove him. I hop around, clucking like a chicken with involuntary laughter. The rest of the family come to watch. Soon they are laughing too. He cackles hysterically as I literally dance to his tune.

That probably sounds quite bad, quite undermining to a parent’s authority. But it’s nothing. It’s not even close to being the worst, most disturbing form of resistance he uses against me. He has, through a long process of evolving mischief, discovered a method of physical and psychological attack so destabilising to my regime, so baffling and discombobulating, that I’m nearing the point of abdicating and letting the rabble take over.

His new tactic is… attack-licking. I’ll say that again to let it sink in. Attack… licking. No, you will not find it in any parenting manual.

Imagine you’re watching a little TV. Suddenly a face looms into view and before you can dodge, a slimy tongue is up your nostril. He’s gone just as quickly, screeching with ecstatic laughter as you recoil, reeling with confusion and growing horror. He dances about in front if you, explaining in lurid detail what he has just done to you.

Later, when you have begun to forget the traumatising incident, you have a hug with your beloved son. “I love you daddy.” He says. You pull him close. He starts to giggle oddly, as if his tongue is sticking out. You feel an odd, slimy, disgusting sensation in your ear hole…

Where could I go into hiding? Any thoughts?

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