It seems that many of you, while taking my call to arms seriously, haven't been going the extra mile with that "Look at me, I'm running through the streets naked so that Readymade can have that kid" ritual. So here's the dealio: today is his due date. We don't want to have contributed to the making of a slacker,* so we're going to try and get him out as near to his due date as possible. Therefore, bring out all of your superstitious doobobs and shakey-shakey sticks, whiskey bottles and celebratory "Baby-Out" Cosmopolitans, funny tap shoes, well-loved stuffed animal totems, your dog-eared copy of The Phantom Tollbooth for a re-read, and any other fine ritual or objet that seems to echo the call of "Let's Meet the Tot." Thank you for your continued cooperation.
*As I'm sure that your sarcasm lobes are all well lubricated, you know that "slacker" is not in fact what I think of the little tyke. I can understand perfectly why he wants to stay inside, especially after these two gems from our current administration:
Bush Readies His Call for a Return to Space Exploration and my personal favorite:
And I had no idea that it needed promotion.
Anyhoo, while the country reels from a crap job market and the biggest deficit ever, Bush comes out with a couple of the looniest spending plans ever hatched. Or at least since Harding was president. Why, oh why does anyone take this boob seriously?
So I'm trying my best to stay focused on the very important job at hand, namely bringing a cute mini-human into the world, but every now and then the outside world forces it's way into my little nest and I become completely and utterly exasperated.
He can stay in there for another couple of days...it's the last respite from this craziness he's apt to get. How can I begrudge him that?