I want to write about my nephew. Honest, I do. I want to write about the weekend I spent with my California family last month, and about how I taught him the word aglet, prompting him to ask me very seriously "Where's Eyeteeth's aglets?" to which I responded, with equal seriousness, "They're right here, buddy," as indeed they were. We played lots of fun games, like Run Around and Fall Over, and Call Things by the Wrong Names, the fun of which lies in affecting an appropriately shocked reaction: "My hair is pink? That is cuckoo! That is certifiably bonkers!" One of the best games, as I learned, was Bounce Up and Down on Eyeteeth, Yelling "Caballo!" (My nephew is capable of referring to almost anything as a caballo, but I was flattered nonetheless.)
I would like to relate much more, but I have no time. Last week I worked at Mammon until seven and then rushed home each night to juggle copy for two other clients, and now I have four days in which to read a three-hundred-page book about Perl. My brain has turned to mango salsa, there's this weird tingly sensation below my right armpit, I'm eating a lot of peanut butter and I think I'm getting a Baker's cyst or something, but I can at least destroy you with the following image:
Yes, I am related to this little cherub. I find it as hard to believe as you do.