I hung out with my 82-year-old grandpa today, whose name is Harry, but I call him Gramps. Gramps gave me some baby name advice: Harry if it's a boy, Harriet if it's a girl.
This of course inspired me to think of all the middle names we could go with to ruin young Harry's adolescence. Peter. Richard.
I know, I'm immature. Willy.
Gramps also decided to help me compose a Mother's Day card for Julie. True, she's not yet technically a mother. Nor did she demand or even hint that she wanted recognition. Trouble is, all the ladies she works with wished her a happy Mother's Day on Friday. Meaning they'll ask her on Monday what her husband did to acknowledge it.
So anyway, Gramps wanted to help me write the card. His best idea was:
Front of the card: "Since it's Mother's Day and you haven't had your baby yet..."
Inside of the card: "...you're pretty much just screwed."
My apologies if you just snotted on your computer screen.
I believe this proves that immaturity is genetic.
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