I got an email last week asking if I’d like to appear on the CBS This Morning Show so that I could entertain a national television audience by suddenly coming down with some new freakshow condition that makes me do all kinds of crazy things with my mouth.
(Note to self: If it appears you’re in a television studio and there are actual cameras in the room and you’re sitting at a news desk with professional on-air journalists and one of them says your name and starts to tell a viewing audience exactly who you are, it’s probably safe to assume you’re on the air at that. very. moment. So it’s not a good idea to start swirling your tongue around like you’re preparing for a very different kind of photo shoot altogether.)
Don’t believe me?
Check this out. Go on, I’ll wait. There’s so much more to tell.
But I was nervous. My mouth was dry. I thought, “If I just swirl my tongue around a little bit, I’ll be able to speak. And besides, someone else is talking right now. There’s no way I’m actually on TV yet.” It was at this moment that I saw the little monitor under the camera, saw my cheeks and lips moving around like I had just swallowed bees and figured, “There’s no need to be nervous about messing up any more. This is going well!”
In the end, it was still really fun. Despite the weird facial tics and the late onset Tourette’s, I was impressed no one asked me what it was like to be a “Mr. Mom.” Seriously, this has to be the only interview I’ve ever done where this didn’t come up. It was awesome.
Plus, there was a limo! With mints!
Then, after the interview, I got to see all the puppies from the Puppy Bowl, Animal Planet’s answer to the Super Bowl. When your team is knocked out of contention, this is much more fun. Plus, I talked the terrier into throwing the game and we made a bundle in Vegas.
After all that, it was time to hit the town. I was operating on two hours of sleep, and I only had a few hours before my flight, but I was going to eat New York if it killed me.
And it nearly did.
First up, roast duck congee at Big Wong King. Mmmmmm.
Then, how about some ridiculously cheap lobster and noodles for breakfast? Don’t mind if I do!
Oh hey, Times Square. Why did I come here again? I hate crowds.
Oh dear god. What has become of me?
With less than an hour before a mint-coated limo was to pick me up, I rushed over to NYMOMA and ran around like a crazy person.
Then, finally, it was time to go home.
There has to be a German name for this: When you’re completely exhausted and you suddenly realize there are no more passengers coming down the aisle and you’re all alone in a row of three seats.
That is how amazing this whole trip was: I got to do a fun parenting interview that didn’t bring up a 25-year-old movie as if it was new and relevant (seriously, happens all. the. time.) and then I got to spend a few hours eating my way around Manhattan before stretching out on the flight home and hogging all the arm rests. Every one.
Plus, thanks to the magic of time zones, I made it home that evening before Emme went to bed.
“Daddy!” she called.
“I love you too,” I said.
We stopped hugging. “What do you mean “what?” ”
She touched my cheek.
“I was going to ask if your mouth is OK? It looked really weird.”