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Teenagers are like food ninjas. I buy groceries, and within 24 hours, it's like a magic trick has happened in my kitchen. I'll open the fridge, and items have vanished into thin air. It's not even logical. I bought a pack of cookies yesterday, and today, poof! Gone. I'm starting to suspect there's a teenage black hole that specifically targets snacks. Maybe it's a secret portal in their backpacks or an invisibility cloak they put on before raiding the fridge. I've considered setting up hidden cameras just to solve this culinary mystery. The footage would probably reveal my son in the dead of night, wearing a cape, tiptoeing into the kitchen and executing a covert snack mission.
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You know, I've got a teenage son, and communication with him is like trying to decrypt an ancient civilization's hieroglyphics. Seriously, I need a Rosetta Stone just to figure out what he's saying. The other day, he comes up to me and goes, "Dad, that movie was so sus." Sus? What is this, a secret spy language? I thought he meant the movie was suspect, like it stole his lunch money or something. Turns out, it just means it was suspicious. Why complicate things, son? Can't we just stick to good old-fashioned words? I miss the days when the biggest communication issue was trying to get him to say "please" and "thank you.
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Trying to talk to a teenager is like attempting to speak a foreign language without a dictionary. You think you're having a normal conversation, and suddenly you realize you've been nodding along, pretending to understand words like "yeet," "lit," and "clout." It's like they're speaking in code, and I'm left here feeling like an out-of-touch detective trying to crack the teen slang case. I've considered taking a crash course to catch up on the lingo, but then I imagine myself using these terms and looking like a dad desperately trying to be cool. "Hey, fellow kids, isn't this party totally yeet?" Yeah, that's not happening. I'll stick to my own language, thank you very much. At least I know when to use "please" and "thank you.
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Teenagers have this incredible skill—they can communicate entire novels with just their eyebrows. It's like they've taken a masterclass in facial semaphore. My son will enter a room, and without saying a word, his eyebrows will tell me everything I need to know. One raised eyebrow means, "I want something." Two raised eyebrows mean, "I want something expensive." And if he furrows them, it's like Morse code for "I forgot to tell you, I need it tomorrow morning." I've started practicing my own eyebrow gymnastics just to keep up. It's like a silent battle of expressions at the dinner table. I'm waiting for the day we communicate solely through eyebrow dances. I'll be like, "Son, I think it's time you cleaned your room," and he'll respond with a perfectly arched brow that says, "Dad, that's not happening.
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