I don’t think I’ve gotten over any of my failed relationships. It’s not that I’m hung up on any of those exes. To the contrary, I’ve quite fully moved on from all of them with godspeed. But I don’t know that I ever really sat down and reflected about the ends of any relationships, why they ended, or my role in their demise. You know, the stuff that women seem to do ad nauseum.

Almost all of my exes have taken time to process the breakup, often attempting to include me in the discussion if they felt comfortable enough, after some time of course. That is very healthy. We men on the other hand -- oh we men -- seem to be completely devoid of the ability to fully process any hurt that may have come at the hands of a loved one.

One of my favorite expressions has always been, “I do not negotiate with terrorists.” There’s so much strength and resolve in that statement. It sounds so poignant and steadfast. And it makes total sense until you realize that toddlers are little terrorists.

And it seems like my whole life is conflict resolution and strategic negotiation tactics right now. My daughter, bless her heart, is a foe unlike any I’ve ever faced. She’s got those little gray/green eyes that look at me so hurt when she doesn’t get her way. Well, at least during those times when she decides NOT to pitch the biggest fit known to mankind. It’s almost worse than the whole debt ceiling debate going on here in Washington. Except instead of coming to an agreement that effectively does nothing, our negotiations at least bear some sort of positive fruit.

I was having a conversation with a friend of mine the other day and remarking about how much fun I have when I'm out with my kid. Of course part of it is just having a little person who's literally enthralled with, well, everything. But the main reason is because she's such an easygoing soul.

One of her favorite things to do is blow bubbles. Do you know how much fun it is to blow bubbles? Countless hours of fun can be spent outside in the grass enjoying the summer breeze and chasing bubbles.

The interesting part is that I've mentioned that to friends of mine of the female persuasion and they said they'd love to just go outside and blow bubbles. Hmmm.

Let me start off by saying that I obviously don't speak for all men. But for the ones I do speak for, let me megaphone this declaration and dispute with a common myth: men don't necessarily want a lady in the streets and freak in the bed.

Granted, we don't want a boring bed buddy. In fact, given the fact that sex and finances are the leading causes of discontentment in relationships, obviously some sort of bedroom excitement is necessary.

I used to think that the word "no" would be the one that sent me over the edge. It almost sounds like a curse word at this point. It's not even so much the word. Nope, it's the intensity and conviction emanating from all 32 pounds of the timeout expert standing before me who really seems to think that she's going to get her way. It's always a battle of wills.

Which is why I was surprised at how everloving bonkers the word "why" drives me. Good googly moogly. I love my daughter's curiosity. I really do. I just wish I could cap it at 10 "whys" per day. I know she's smarter than she lets on. She has to be. She knows it drives me crazy.

If I'm to believe Twitter, personal experience, and four out of five dentists, then women are obsessed with nudity. Every day, millions of women come home from work and toss the $200 blouse they spent two hours shopping for into a huge pile of clothes in the corner in favor of doing naked cartwheels all over their humble abode.

Mind you, I'm all for nudity. In fact, I think nudity is the cornerstone of a solid relationship. You have truly achieved comfort with another person when you can be nude around them without feeling self-conscious. Not that I think you all need to be doing nude time at all times. One of my biggest fears in life is doing the nude mambo in the kitchen while somebody is fricasseeing celery and then next thing you know I've become part of the Lorena Bobbitt School for Guys With Chopped Off Wangs.

But I digress.

So the funniest part about being a dad with a little girl (well, aside from the vision of myself in tears as a wayward youth shows up at my door for the first time to take my daughter out on a date when she's like 16) is the amount of aggressive attention I get from women when we're out.

Church? Supermarket? Jiffy Lube? Doesn't matter. There is always some woman telling me how adorable my daughter is and trying to touch my kid. And if her little outfit is cute? Gangbusters.

Some years ago, Volkswagen had a commercial that I think perfectly exemplifies being an adult with a child. This commercial featured a father and toddler duo where the child drops a cookie on the ground and the father has to get to it before the kid picks it up and puts it in his mouth. The voiceover states that "I've got to stop my kid from eating off the ground when in my mind I'm thinking five-second rule."

If that isn't my life, I don't know what is. It's funny how life goes from being fancy free to "don't do anything that her mother will yell at me for." Which ... well, let's just say it should be an easy task but the truth is, since my daughter showed up, I've discovered that I apparently don't have as much common sense as I thought.