We got to the lady’s house. I have to say, it was kind of crappy. Disappointing for a house for a grown-up, you know? She had Halloween decorations still up, which I consider a plus. My Christmas decoration of choice is actually an old mummy cutout that I just put in front of a cross. We all worship in our own ways.
But her Halloween decorations were the kind like scarecrows with wiggly smiles that look really friendly. The kind of stuff they have on the bulletin board in an elementary school. Just fucking sickening.
We got inside and she said, “Make yourselves at home in the kitchen. I’ll be right back with some things.”
I set Dum-Dum in the sink and looked around in the fridge. Here’s another parenting tip: If you get a sink with two sides, put the baby in the side without a garbage disposal installed. This makes you look much more responsible, although this rule is waived if the baby is vomiting.
She came back with some Q-tips and some kind of juice that she dipped the Q-tips in. She had kind of a bad attitude about me looking in the fridge. “See anything you like in there?” she said.
“Most of this shit is expired,” I said. “You should be updating your condiments at least every quarter.” Burn.
“You say shit in front of the baby?” she said.
“I say all kinds in front of Dum-Dum.”
“Dum-Dum?”
“Yeah. His name is fucking Dum-Dum.” I could tell I was getting into a dangerous territory here. Sex might no longer be the first thing on her mind the way it was when she seduced me here from the dog park.
“Let’s change topics. What’s with all the crappy Halloween stuff?” I said.
She started jabbing Dum-Dum with the Q-tips, but he didn’t seem to like it. I thought about swooping in, but then I figured these two assholes deserved each other.
She said, “I have them left over from my classroom.”
Then it hit me like 30 to 40 horribly colored coloring sheets of Frankenstein.
“You’re a teacher,” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
“What grade?”
“Third,” she said.
“Aw, god. Must be hell.” I tried to play it cool by eating what I thought was an olive from a jar but was actually the oldest Maraschino cherry of all time.
“I actually kind of like it,” she said.
“MMM,” I said. Then I didn’t say anything because I was busy opening the fridge and vomiting into an Eggo box while trying t make as little noise as possible.
She finished and then picked Dum-Dum up and cradled him. He started laughing when she made baby talk at him.
I said, “Could you please not do that? It sounds very bad. You sound very bad when you talk that way.”
She stopped and handed Dum-Dum back over to me. “I think it’s probably time for you to leave.”
I said, “Do you have any Doritos in the house?”
She said, “Just go.”
“Seriously,” I said. “My blood sugar is very low. Some of the chemicals in there really help out.”
She sighed and pulled half a bag from the back of one of her cabinets. Then she took the Chip Clip off the top and handed me the bag.
“We’ll be on our way,” I said.
It looks like Dum-Dum has to spend another day without a mommy, or at least a mommy that stays over long enough that he can be scarred when he rolls over in his drawer and sees me doing her from behind, or possibly the side.
On the plus, you know how you eat Doritos or Cheetos or any of the many other cheesy products from the fine folks at Frito-Lay, and when you do you get that cheese dust all over? A baby’s head, with its human skin and just a few slivers of hair is perfect for wiping those hands almost clean.
Or so I thought until all this skin started coming off of Dum-Dum’s head.
What will be Dum-Dum’s final fate? Find out in tomorrow’s baby blog.