A new tradition

Last year I lamented the rise of fart-themed father's day cards. This year when the first father's day card I picked up involved dear old dad's flatulence, I said to myself, "Fuck it. I'm not going to fight this thing anymore. I'm going to go with it. Obviously, fart-themed father's day cards are a sign of the times and who am I to go against the zeitgeist." So, when I handed my father his card yesterday I said that this was the beginning of a new tradition. From now on I will seek out and purchase the best fart-themed father's day card every year. My father seemed to be cool with it, but I may be wrong.

The baby

I had a nightmare the other night that was like something out of a David Lynch movie. In the dream I was the father of an unusually large baby girl (my mother collected dolls and one of her dolls may have been the inspiration for this big baby). A friend of mine (not the mother; the mother remained unknown) was assisting me in the care of this child. When I noticed that my friend had placed the baby in a crib full of stringy, cotton-like packing material and that this material was covering the baby's face and had gotten into her mouth, I panicked and quickly attempted to remove the material from the baby's mouth with my index finger. While I was doing this, it became apparent to me that the child was displeased with my action; she began gnawing on my finger. In the instant it took to scoop the material from the baby's mouth, it now became horrifically clear that my finger was no longer in the baby's mouth, but in her eye and that I had just scooped out the poor child's eyeball. That's when I had enough and woke up.