It would be so much easier to just call it quits. No more pain, suffering, or damnable kids calling me names.That was the last I saw of my daughter fo... two months. My sons would call once in a while, but my daughter stayed out of my life. It hurt. I was sitting in my dark living room one night, just brooding when the phone rang."Hello?" Is this John?" There's a lot of John's in the world, but I happen to be one... yes." Do you know Samantha?" Who is this? What do you want?"I was angry. I. Parton, and we’ll get you going on the makeover.”“Ms. Parton?” I ask my wife, puzzled.“Oh, I’m sorry. You prefer Dolly?”Oh, I get it. Because of the Southern accent in my female voice.“Dolly is fine,” I find myself saying, as I adjust my panties and take a seat on the bench in front of Sam’s vanity.Hoping to turn this opportunity into a real holy cow moment, I decide it’d be best if I wait until Sam completes the makeover before looking into the mirror. She doesn’t just stop with makeup though.. More

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