Have you eaten today? Even something small? Even if it wasn't "healthy?"

Have you had water today?

Have you brushed your teeth? Or at least swished some mouthwash?

Have you showered? Or at least given yourself a once-over with a baby wipe or a washcloth?

If you take any kind of medication(s), did you take your meds today?

Do you need to use the toilet?

Have you moved, even just a little bit?

The windowless room was thick with the smell of cigar smoke, leather, and sweat.  My brothers and I had roughhoused enough for one day.  It was time to relax and wait for our visitor to get here.

“What do you think he’ll be like?” I said.

My brother Dan exhaled his smoke.  My other brother Rick and I both leaned forward to breathe it in.  Wasting good cigar smoke was a sin for us leather dads, and if our handlers noticed our transgression, we could be turfed out to one of the other wings, like house dad.  God, those guys were insufferable, baking and vacuuming all day long.  Although, they do have the tidiest bunks in the place.  The space my brothers and I live in can get a little gamey.

With any luck, one of us would be chosen today.  It would be sad to say goodbye to my brothers, but if it meant getting chosen, separation would be worth it.  Worth it, but bittersweet.  We’d been bunking together in the leather wing of the dad reassignment center since—well, for as long as I could remember.