So, the other day we're rushing around trying to get ready to visit some friends who had invited us over for dinner. I went into Daisy's room to ensure that she was getting dressed. While nagging her, I picked up a nerf football in her room and began tossing it to myself.

"Daddy, do you know how to throw that?"

"Sure."

"Throw it!"

"You know, it's really not a good idea to throw balls in the house."

"It'll be fine, Dad."

"Well... ", I looked to see if the hallway was clear, "I suppose this is a pretty soft ball. Ok!"

I dropped back into my best Joe Montana and gently lofted the ball out her door. It bounced awkwardly in the hallway, and then disappeared into the bathroom making a weird SPLUNK sound. I stared dumbfounded for a moment, shaking my head at the fact that my six year old daughter had convinced me to throw a football in the house.

Daisy and I crept across the hallway fearful of the damage we'd find. I peeked into the bathroom while Daisy shielded her eyes. I quickly spied the football. It was making gentle circles in the toilet bowl, like the world's most painful dump.

I busted up while Daisy went to go tell on me.

"MOM! GUESS WHAT?!?! Dad threw the football in the toilet!!" she screeched.

"What?!?! Why?!?!" Hank asked, exasperated.

"Nevermind," I cleverly parried, "Let me clean this up."

"There's no time. We'll be late!"

"Look, our friends have two kids. They'll understand. I'm sure if we made them guess why we were late, they'd probably guess 'Football in the toilet?'. We've all been there." I explained.

As it turns out, they didn't ask.