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5:53 a.m. - 2002-01-07

DAMNED BABY WALKING

Am I beaming this morning?

Well...yeah. If you can overlook the bedhead, pseudo five o' clock shadow and bags under my eyes.

Andrew took his first unassisted steps last night.

It came as a shock to me and Susie. And...in a small way...to Andrew as well.

Susie was sitting on the floor, I was in my recliner and Andrew was bugging the hell out of me as usual. He wants to be lifted into the chair with me and then slides out of the chair and then cries until I pick him up again at which time he slides right back out to the floor and cries once again.

It's a bizarre little game of his that I can't figure out what enjoyment he can possibly be getting out of it.

Anyway. After about 10 times of doing this. Susie...sitting about two-three feet away, says "Andrew come here."

Both of us expect to see him hit the floor and crawl over to Susie.

He turns around and very gently takes about 4-5 steps into her arms.

We were shocked and burst into cheers. Mine went...

"2-4-8-6

Who just took their very first steps?

Andrew! Andrew!

ANDREW!!!"

Susie just yelled "YAYYYYY!" because she's not as creative as me.

Meanwhile, Andrew looked bored and wondered what all the fuss was about.

Something tells me he's probably playing basketball at daycare each day just to spite us. The kid can probably jump rope and tap dance for all we know.

I bet daycare people keep that kind of information from the parents which is a good thing. I can just imagine Susie going to daycare to pick Andrew up and having Miss Robin say "Well...Andrew walked all day long" and watching Susie's heart drop. Then we'd have to go through that whole "I feel so guilty for working and letting someone else raise my child" crap that will throw her back into therapy for another eight months.

Yeah. He's probably turning cartwheels at daycare and we're just not hearing about it. That way, when he finally gets off his lazy ass around the house, we'll feel like it's his first time.

I should have known his steps yesterday were not his first.

The moonwalk at the end of them should have been a tip-off.


Sooo...backtracking just a bit...Friday night we went out to eat while leaving Andrew at church for Parent's Night Out.

When we went to pick them up, another family was there. We somehow got on the subject of professional wrestling.

Susie, who never passes up an opportunity to completely humiliate me in public, says "Oh, don't get Uncle Bob started on wrestling...HE LOVES IT!!"

Now...okay...yeah...I like the wrestling. But I'm a CLOSET fan. I don't loudly proclaim my love for the sports entertainment to anyone who will listen. I don't wear "Stone Cold Steve Austin" t-shirts or quote The Rock whenever possible. I mean...yeah...one time we went to a fancy restaurant and the waiter told us the specials were broiled halibut and leg of lamb and I said "I know because I CAN SMELLLLLLLLLLL WHAT THE COOK IS ....COOKING."

But other than that, you know...I try to keep it low key.

So the father asks me if I've read the Rock's book. I said no. He said he'd let me borrow it and bring the book on Sunday. Hey, great. Wonderful. Could you wrap the book in neon lighting and carry a megaphone telling everyone that you're about to give me a book written by a professional wrestler and that I'm a dweeb who wants to read it?

Could you?

And could you please let everyone know that I'm a grown man who watches a fake sport that most people quit watching once they hit the ripe old age of 15?

Please?

Anyway...so yesterday he brings the book. And he's walking through the crowd of people after church with a big grin on his face and the book held behind his back.

I about melted into the wall.

So he hands me the book and I hurriedly stick it in Andrew's diaper bag and told him to remind me to never put him in charge of a surprise party because he's pretty obvious when it comes to hiding things.

So we come home and something in the house stinks.

Without drawing it out to a painful anti-climax...it was the book that stunk.

The guy I'm borrowing it from and his wife are heavy smokers.

(Uncle Bob searches the room for his soapbox, spots it behind the loveseat and climbs on top of it)

Hello smokers.

I'd like to address you and your disgusting habit for a moment.

Did you know that you stink?

You do!

And it's not just you! Nope...get this...everything in your house stinks!

That's right! If you bring a book to someone to let them borrow it and they don't smoke...it takes about ten minutes for your stinky smelly smoky book to funk up their house like an elephant fart.

And there's really NO POSSIBLE WAY for you to be offended over what I'm writing. Because you CHOSE to stink yourself up. That's right! Nobody forced that first cigarette between your lips. You took it, you sucked it, you coughed your lungs up and you sucked it again.

And now...years later...YOU STINK.

I grew up in a home where both my parents smoked like forest fires. And I'm sure I must have went to school reeking of tobacco to the point where my teachers pitied me and that's why I got straight A's even though I spelled my name with a shitload of x's. They gave me A's because they wanted me to get out of that house and into a good college where I would never have to go home again.

I never smelled that tobacco smell growing up. I had no idea my clothes stunk like Oprah's ass after a visit to an all you can eat Mexican buffet. But I feel pretty confident that's why I had no friends growing up. Well...that and I was quite fond of eating my mucus. One or the other.

Currently, The Rock's book is outside on my back porch getting aired out. Because I can't even hold it without my fingers smelling like Sammy Davis Jr.

So smokers...as you sit there, puffing away and stinking up everything around you, remember this ... you are not only building up a nasty funk on your body and clothes that everyone around you is gagging over ... you're really stinking up your vast collection of professional wrestling biographies.

But on the bright side...just think...if you can manage to keep this nasty habit up for another 30 years or so, you'll be lucky enough to wear one of those cool tubes that wrap around your head and feed you oxygen through your nostrils.

Won't that be awesome??

And you can bet...your old Uncle Bob will be ultra-jealous of you then with your cool space age oxygen tubing!

I guess you get the last laugh after all.

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