Kids are cool. They can be. I was one once. (Actually, I remember distinctly feeling uncool as a kid, but that doesn't matter now.) I was even a cute baby. I can't prove it here because I don't have a scanner to scan an ancient faded black-and-white of my mug and upload it, but I was. I swear. Even when I had that walnut-sized tumor on my cheek that when removed caused the crooked grin that makes me so lopsidedly fetching-looking even today, years later.
All my friends out there who have kids, including those of you who have not yet busted me on the Gerber Baby Rant, I love your kids. Look, who plays with them endlessly until you want to send her adult-sized ass but child-sized demeanor to take a nap? That's me. Just because I never had kids doesn't mean I don't like them. I like them all the better because of it.
I solemnly promise here and now that when I am in Aubergine House, I will continue the fabulous Easter Egg Hunt on the Lawn tradition. Aw, don't say it now; wait until it happens: Thanks, Easter Bunny. Pock, pock!
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