There needs to be a new reality show. Not one that makes people more glamorous than they were before, but one that makes people more real than they were before.
You take one care-free single guy, who stays out all night on Friday, parties all day Saturday and sits and drinks beer and watches football on Sundays until he stumbles into bed late Sunday night. During the week he wears clean, crisp, hip clothing and drives a cool, clean car listening to the latest, coolest tracks.
You pair that guy up with five dads who have kids ranging in age from 3 months to 15 years.
When they first meet the single guy welcomes the dads. He’s looking forward to getting a lesson in responsibility. He feels that he’s been partying too much and spending too much time carousing, watching TV and trolling for skanky girls in smoky bars. He wants to straighten out his life, focus on his career and maybe settle down, find a wife and start a family.
Meet our five dads:
Kyle—Home design and improvement
Dan—Hair and grooming
Mike—Fashion
Jeff—Culture
Jim—Food
The five dads arrive at our single’s apartment at 5:30 a.m. Two hours before they were scheduled to arrive. They don’t knock, but rather just run into his bedroom and jump on his bed until he wakes up.
They introduce themselves and ask him if he’s ready to have his life made over into a dad’s life. Why yes he is!
They throw him into the shower.
“This water is cold” he complains.
Dan laughs at him. “Listen, I have a wife and three kids at home. I’m always the last one to get in the shower. I haven’t taken a warm shower in twelve years.”
“Oh, it’s okay,” our single says, “It’s getting warmer.”
Just then the toilet flushes, and Jim makes a relieved sound.
“Auuuuuuuggggh,” screams our single. “Why’d you have to flush the toilet while I’m in the shower?”
“I really had to go,” answers Jim. “I mean, I really had to go.”
“Can I have a towel,” our single asks.
“We’re out,” answers Dan. “I haven’t had a towel in twelve years either. I have a wife and three kids at home, did I mention that? Yeah, well all the kids are girls. They each use an average of seven towels apiece in their shower.”
“But I’m wet,” the single complains.
“Use some toilet paper.”
In the bedroom Mike, our fashion guy, is going through all of our single’s clothes.
“Are these all new,” he asks.
“Yeah,” says the single. “I actually like to shop. I like to look good.”
“Well,” says Mike, “They all have to go.”
“What?”
“That’s part of your make over. I’ve brought you a new wardrobe that I picked up at Good Will. It’s all at least six years old. What size pants are you? 34? These are 32. You’ll have to squeeze into them.”
“But they’re too small!”
“Yeah, but you don’t want to give them up,” Mike says. “You swear you’ll get your weight down one of these days to fit in them.”
“But there are two pairs of jeans, one has paint on them and the other has holes. And what are those? Three pairs of wrinkled and worn out Dockers? That’s all I get for work clothes?”
“Hey, you make do man. Kids grow like baseball players on steroids. Their clothes take precedence.”
Our single puts on a new shirt, a very outdated Rugby shirt with threadbare elbows. He looks in the mirror and doesn’t mind what he sees.
“Actually, I kind of look like my dad.” Just at that moment Mike wipes his nose on the shirt.
“What the hell did you do that for? There’s Kleenex right there!”
“Sorry. Let it dry.”
Out in the living room of our single’s apartment Kyle has removed a light fixture and it is hanging down by the wires. Jim is pouring a variety of juices on the rug and couch.
“What are you doing” the single screams.
“Well,” Kyle answers, “I was going to change out that fixture there but I don’t have the right tools. And besides, I’m not sure if I’m comfortable working with electric.”
”So you’re just going to leave it there?”
“Jesus,” screams Kyle, “do I look like Bob Frickin’ Villa? Stop being such a bitch!” And with that Kyle walks to the door, leaving the light hanging and the wires sparking. He punches the wall and puts a huge hole in the wall on his way out the door.
“Aren’t you going to fix that,” our single asks. “I have a security deposit that I want back when I move out.”
“Stop riding my ass,” yells Kyle. “Hag!” And with that he slams the door, leaving our single standing with his mouth agape.
“Well,” Jeff says, “Kyle’s going through a divorce. Give him a break. So, you have a nice CD collection and a lot of DVDs too! Wow, Bladerunner, The Searchers. The entire Beatles collection, nice.”
“Thanks. I’ve been collecting them for years.”
“We’ll you’ve done a nice job,” Jeff answers. “Very impressive. Okay, box ‘em up boys.”
”WHAT?”
“ We have a surprise for you! You’ve had a whole new video and CD collection donated. You now have every Raffi and Barney CD ever recorded. And for videos, you have all the Wiggles, Baby Mozart and all the Disney Sing Alongs.”
“But,” our single protests, “half of the videos don’t even have cases!”
“Yeah,” answers Jeff. “That’s always the first thing to go. Check under the couch.”
Dan looks at our single’s hair. “Nice coif.”
“Thanks! I go to a really expensive salon and I spend a lot of time styling it every morning.”
“Nice,” Dan answers. He then takes a wet cloth and messes up our single’s hair, making it look like he just got out of bed.
“Okay,” yells Jim, “time for shopping!”
So everyone loads into a minivan.
“Hang on,” Jim says. “Let me move that car seat. You can put the soccer ball in the back. What the hell is that? Is it moving? Okay, just step over it.”
Jamming to the feel-good songs of the Wiggles they head out on the open road, a bunch of guys. Happy guys. Bonding together. A good old fashioned road trip.
Three minutes later they’re pulling into a Walgreen’s parking lot.
“Wait,” our single says. “I thought we were going shopping. Don’t I get to pick out clothes and get a hair cut and new furniture?”
The four remaining dads laugh.
“Yes, we are shopping,” Dan laughs. “But not for that stuff! Our first stop is Walgreen’s. You need to pick up a package of panty liners for my wife.”
“Oh God help me.”
“Go on. Make sure you get the right ones. Something about absorbent thin wings or something.”
Our single, crying, goes into the store. 30 minutes later, he walks out still crying.
“That was terrible.”
“You get used to it,” Dan says.
“No you don’t,” Jim answers. “Okay, let’s get to the supermarket.”
“So am I going to learn how to make Foie Gras?”
All the dads laugh.
They emerge from the supermarket loaded down with groceries.
“Did we actually get anything that I want to eat,” the single guy asks.
“Well, let’s see, you have fruit snacks, Nilla Wafers, waffles, a variety of oatmeals, seven gallons of apple juice and Flintstone’s vitamins. You should be fine.”
Upon arriving back at our single’s apartment he is shocked to see what seems like a million people in his living room. Kids swinging from the chandeliers, one is throwing a ball against the window and there’s one on top of the refrigerator.
“What the hell is this,” our single asks.
“Our families,” Jeff answers.
Suddenly a thirteen-year-old girl walks up to the single and says, “I hate you!” She bursts into tears and runs into his bedroom, locking the door.
“What the hell just happened? What is that smell?”
“Oh,” answers Jeff’s wife, “That’s junior. He just filled his diaper. Or he may just have gas. You might want to do the dip test.”
“The what?”
“The dip test. That’s where you stick your fingers in the diaper to see if it’s messy.”
“There’s no way in hell . . .”
“Okay, just pick him up and smell his butt.”
“Well,” says Dan, “I think this was a success!”
“Me too,” says Jim.
“But my apartment is a mess, I look like hell, the carpet is stained, everything smells funny and there’s nothing here for an adult to eat,” complains the single.
“Like I said, a success,” answers Dan.
“Well, let’s go,” says Mike. And with that all the wives pair up with their respective husband and start to leave.
“Where are you going,” asks the single. “You’re forgetting your kids.”
“No we’re not,” answers Mike. “Check the contract you signed. You’re keeping them overnight. We’re all going to stay at a luxury hotel tonight and have a fancy dinner. Do you know how long it’s been since we’ve spent an evening alone with our wives?”
“But . . .”
“See you tomorrow morning!”
Breaking down into tears, our single watches the door close as he is enveloped by a gaggle of children asking him for something.
“I hate you,” screams the thirteen-year-old girl from the bedroom.
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