The Queen and I are a cheap couple of bastards, so we’ll dress The Squirrelly in pretty much anything that’s free. Hand-me-downs. Paper bags with holes cut in them. We’ll be set for life when we figure out how to knit sweaters from the hair our cat Edgar sheds. “Sweadgars,” we’ll call them.
We’re so indiscriminant that some of those aforementioned hand-me-downs were originally intended for — brace yourself — girls. That’s right: I have clad my infant son in pink. There may have even been some frills involved at some point, I couldn’t swear otherwise.
A few months ago my buddy M. was visiting from the East Coast, and he was so disgusted with The Squirrelly’s wardrobe that he immediately swung-or-possibly-“swang” into action. He went online, found a store that sold camouflage jumpers for babies, and had one sent to us posthaste. Here it is in action:
We’ve also been mixing PowerLifter IronMax 4000 into The Squirrelly’s formula to counteract the feminizing effects of the unicorn onsies.
Well, now that I’ve opened a can of worms by taking the cork out of the “baby pictures” bottle, I may as well go whole hog and mix my metaphors. To wit: