Great Dallas Ice Storm, day three: we eat our dead

So, it snowed a bit last night. The Job opened three hours late, at ten a.m. I was the first one there, about half the staff deciding it was too dangerous to come at all. (The Boss arrived at about ten past ten, and the Assistant Boss an hour or so later.) By 11:00, everything was melting. That glistening, slick-looking surface on the roads? That's called water. Just drive through it.

Anyway. I stayed a bit late because of the low numbers, and then drove up to the hospital to see little Crafty again. This time I got to hold him; he was rolled up in a bundle as tight as a log. While I was there, he got taken away to be castrated circumcised. Poor guy. He was asleep when they took him, but when they brought him back, his eyes were open and rather accusatory.

Palfrey said, incidating both herself and Friar: "Man, this frickin' breast-feeding is taking all our brain power!"

After I misspoke and said something about how some babies never take to the breast and end up being bottle fed "all their lives," the three of us had a good laugh about what the world would be like if we all indeed drank from nippled bottles into adulthood. We figured there'd be a lot fewer bar fights or lunch meetings; it's hard to be mad or look intimidating when you're sucking from a bottle. Also, think of the camaraderie induced from everyone patting one other on the back after drinks.