Years ago, my bride tried to warn me what was about to happen when marrying her introduced two daughters into my life.

I was already well experienced at raising boys.
“But girls are different,” Jenny said, “so don’t be surprised if you get in touch with your feminine side.”

That conversation flashed back recently as I followed youngest daughter Evie through Jo-Anne Fabrics, cradling two bolts of material in my arms.
“I’m not altogether comfortable with this,” I whispered to Evie. “Have you noticed my gender is not well-represented here?”

Evie, with her mischievous nature, loved it.

To further my embarrassment, she abandoned me at the cutting table while she wandered off to find buttons.

I glanced around with a twinge of paranoia.

“So,” I mused inwardly, “it has come to this. Good old dad could be at home checking the oil in the car or performing some other manly duty. But here he is, standing in line with the ladies at the fabric store.”

When it came my time to have material cut, I tried to make it clear to the clerk that the merchandise wasn’t for me.

“My daughter,” I said, emphasizing those first two words, “wants one yard of the black felt and two yards of the tan one.”

Being the father of girls can be humbling in many ways.
While I still selfishly refuse to give up the TV when my favorite football teams are playing, I often forfeit the constitutional television rights of fatherhood to view a chick flick with the girls.

I have trouble remembering the exact titles of their favorites, but I believe they include “You’ve Got An Email From Tom Hanks” and “Win a Date With Some Dude Called Ted Hamilton.”

The plots seem designed to make men look like complete fools to the amusement of the women in their lives. Then, they all go dancing gleefully through the rain while a romantic song plays in the background.

I am also subjected to the musical likes of the Backstreet Boys and Taylor Swift when I would rather be rocking to The White Stripes or John Lee Hooker.
All of these things are starting to affect me in strange ways.

I recently adopted Evie’s enthusiasm for crafts.
During Christmas, we made snowflake tree ornaments and clocks out of old bike parts. Now, we are building an elaborate wooden sword.

So, if you see me wandering around the fabric store or Hobby Lobby, I will tell you I’m there for my girls. But the supplies in the shopping cart might really belong to Dad.

Executive Editor Scott Morris can be reached at 256-740-5721 or scott.morris@TimesDaily.com.