Dangerously cute

This post falls under the nauseating category, but in the interest of full disclosure, here it is. Julie and the baby, through some cosmic snafu, have new nicknames. I share them now, again, only in the interest of full disclosure because truly this is information that you could live without and still be quite content until you turn 112 and pass quietly into the good night.

In fact, upon reading further, you might burp a little from the cuteness and ultimately cost yourself that uneventful 112th year. You see, that burp will leave another burp in its wake, which will lie dormant in your esophagus for years and years until your 111th birthday, at which point you will unleash it, causing your house to rumble and the chandelier to fall on your head, killing you in a spectacular yet painless explosion of light and glass. All your centennarian friends will applaud wildly, thinking it's the Fourth of July.

All from the nauseating cuteness of Julie and the baby's new nicknames. Well, you've been warned.

Julie = Booper
Baby = Beeper

When you next see Julie, say "Hey Booper, how's Beeper?"