Not That There’s Anything Wrong With That
We have an appointment tomorrow morning to have the Man-Cub’s broken wrist placed in a cast, finally. The plaster splint has been on for 11 days now and is emitting a funky smell the likes of which I have never before experienced; something evil lurks beneath.
11 days is a long time to wear a temporary splint if you ask me but, if you ask the orthopedic guy; not so much. In any case, it has given the Cub ample opportunity to think about what color he wants the actual cast to be and, as of this morning; he wants a black cast with flames on it.
Which, Hugh decrees, is further evidence that the child is destined to be straight since no respectable gay man would ask for a cast that resembles something one might see at a NASCAR race.
Not that we had any reason to think the Cub will turn out gay, you understand (not that there’s anything wrong with that), after all; this is the child who just the other day told me how much he likes boobs.
Hugh’s just sayin’.