dr. freud, your slip is showing

Critics of my taste in men, beware: I am lobbing you some very easy balls here.

Strong evidence in favor of my alleged daddy complex: This morning I sent a text to my father. Only . . . I was underslept. It was barely eight in the morning. And "Dad Cell" beginning, as it does, with the letter 'D', well, I sent it to the G.I.Q. instead.

Yes, it was embarrassing. It included the phrase "greatest dad in the whole world," a reference to my fear that he might be "getting sick of me" and—worst of the worst—a graphical smiley face.

Ohgod.

Imagine the pee-curdling panic that ensued when I discovered my mistake. Imagine.

I am duly mortified.

We, the G.I.Q. and I, take one step forward and two steps back.