STRAIGHT FROM THE MUT

Sunday was of course my first Fathers Day. I spent the morning at an anti tramp-stamp and belly button ring rally, followed by brunch with the family.

Randi’s gift to me was Daddy and Daughter swimming lessons. Now I am all for activities with my kid (she’s already been to Wrigley and more than one bar). However, I am not sure getting into a pool with a baby who pisses and shits indiscriminately for a living is my idea of fun. “Grab that buoy please.” “Uh, that’s a floating turd.” I mean, how do they even allow this? A grandmother in Oregon gets a stomachache and the CDC bans tomatoes in this country, but you’re telling me they are going to let 12 babies and their dads take a swim in a pool of e. coli? I’m telling you now, I am NOT getting in that water without some protection. I’m getting myself some sort of wet suit. In fact, if I have my way, I’m going to look like Dustin Hoffman in Outbreak.

Speaking of the little one, her ass-canon is at it again. She shot shit all over her changing table last night. This time, she scored a direct hit on her wipe warmer. It made it into all the crevices. Now every wipe that comes out is pre-poopied.