A few days ago on our plane ride to Los Angeles, during which my son was having a exhaustion-induced meltdown, a woman on the plane told me I was a good father.
"You are so patient with him," she said.
"I know," I said. "I'm pretty amazing."
"I remember how tough it was with kids on the plane," she said.
"Yep," I said. "It is pretty tough but I'm doing so great. I'm definitely not going to have a nervous breakdown. I'm solid, dependable, and I have everything under control. I've totally not for even half a second thought about opening the plane door and jumping out. I mean, I would never do that, obviously. But that thought never even crossed my mind. I definitely never thought about running to the back of the plane and stealing all the tiny whiskey bottles and drinking them all. I've never thought about lying down in the aisle and weeping until the pilot lands the plane. I'm the best father of all time."