Determined not to flub it again, he’d rehearsed his speech until he had gotten it right backwards and forwards. This time, he would be better prepared.

Boy, was he ever wrong.

They were in a restaurant, sharing a rare meal as a family, when she’d piped up. Loudly.

“Daddy, what does it mean to—”

And she proceeded to use a word no four-year-old child should know.

He felt countless eyes focus on him, some with shock, some with horror, others with pity.

People who write beautiful poetry about the joys of having children obviously never spawned any of their own.

Unnecessarily Long and Tiresome Authoress’ Notes:
There’s no escape for Vegeta this time.