It goes a little something like this:
– See the Baby in the sink. Scream.
– Opt to make my pain into other people’s pleasure. Write blog about Baby in sink.
– Throughout the rest of the day, insist on referring to turkey as the Baby.
– Everyone else begins referring to it as the Baby as well, culminating in Mike Pope calmly pointing to my own personal dad carving away, and remarking “Look, it’s the Baby’s bris.”
– We two opt for veggie entree and eating our weight in carbs.
– Next day, I come over to the parental home. Notice the carcass of the Baby in the fridge. The Baby smells delicious. Well, who can resist a Baby that smells like that? It would take a stronger man than I.
– Mmm. Tryptophan.
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