My Daddy "The Fonz"

Chapter 8/Part 2: The Dreaded Second Half

~Sorry this update took so freaking long. A whole month! That's what a job does to a person :) Please enjoy and tell me what you want to see next!!

Fonzie's POV:

Why? WWHYYYYY did I do this to myself? Stupid shorts. I ain't gonna be walking straight for a good week. I'm betting thanks to the kids' little bladders, it looks like we're gonna be stopping at a Burger King, and that means I can stretch these sore puppies. Right when we turn in though, I start to doubt whether or not I can even get off this bike–and with an audience I might add.

As soon as the crew parks, Bobby sees me out his window and launches himself out toward me. Great. Now he can watch his dad writhe in pain. I don't do pain so good, to say the least. Enjoy this, kid. 'Caus these shorts are coming right off right when we get to our destination–and my jeans–are going right back on (and staying on).

"Daddy!" Bobby stretches his arms up as he waits for me to get off my bike, which takes forever.

I heave and wince as my body protests all of this. Hanging halfway off, I can hear the bozos–Ralph and Potsie–laughing like hyenas at me. I wanna so badly cuss at them and threaten them with bodily entanglement, but I swore I'd be on my best behavior around the kid. So much for parenting. "Geez, you gonna help me or just stand there?" I yell at Richie, who's trying hard not to let out a snicker.

"Sure, I'll help ya, Fonz. That sure looks uncomfortable. I bet you're regretting that now, huh?" Richie says with his smart-alec smirk.

My glare shuts him up. "You'll all be regretting your entire life here pretty soon if you don't zip it." That's when the hyenas quit their cackling. Serves 'em right.

Then after about a minute, Richie's able to help me off, and I have to catch myself as Bobby jumps in my arms. "Hey kiddo," I grunt, offering him my knuckles to pound. "How was the ride so far?"

"Uh, good, 'cept I gotta pee-ye-ye!" Bobs starts to squirm around in my arms, and I soon start to feel some wet on my t-shirt. Great. Now this.

"Bobby, uck!" I don't mean to, but I almost drop him. My first instinct is to throw him at Richie, except then I remember he's MY kid, so I buck up and run him over to the first bathroom I see inside the Burger King. Heck, I'm not even sure if it's the men's room or not.

Bobby pops a squat inside the first stall, forgetting entirely to shut the stall door behind him, while I try my best to get the pee stain out of my nice, white shirt. (Well, what used to be white.)

Mr. C comes in and knocks on the door frame. "You two coming? We're waiting to order. It took you forever to get off that silly bike. You should've just driven with us. That man-pride is going to get you into trouble one day."

"Yeah, yeah, I know that. Don't you know I know that by now? Ay, look at me. I'm a freakin' mess–and I don't got no man-pride. Just straight up pride. That's nothin' to be ashamed of. All a man's got is his pride." I pause as I cringe at the poor sight of myself and don't even bother to try fixing my wind-swept hair. I guess this is what a vacation looks like–letting your hair down, supposedly.

Then Bobs comes trotting out, happy as ever.

I sigh at him, thinking about how cute he is when he's not causing problems. "You feelin' better?"

"Mm hmm," he hums, grinning wider than before.

I pat his back and help him reach the sink. Bobs was not gifted in the height department. I guess, neither was I. (But I make up for that in coolness.)

"Hurry up, alright?" Mr. C says, whipping my right butt cheek with the towel from the towel rack. He thinks he can get away with murder, that one. He seriously needs to be put in his place. He ain't my freakin' dad. Why does he have to act so macho? We ain't a pack of wild monkeys trying to dominate the other, for cryin' out loud. Just leave me the hell alone. I sure hope we can get along on the car ride. I think I might choose Richie's car just to avoid that whole awkward mess altogether. Guess we'll have to see.