Can I get this to go? No, not the burrito. In fact, once I have been presented with food, I have to eat it. There’s no wrapping it up and saving it for later. What am I, a squirrel? No, I’m more like a raccoon: the moment I encounter food and/or garbage, I eat it. That’s why I always order delivery. Always. For me, hell is the drive home from the sub shop as waves of beefy, cheesy aromas circulate through the car, making it a savory sauna (patent pending). Fudge that! My nose is like a starter’s pistol. Once it fires those olfactory receptors, my stomach is already half-way to the finish line, like Usain Bolt. OKAY NO MORE SIMILES. What I’ve been trying to say is I could sure use some help wrapping up this baby. Maybe it’s new parent inexperience, maybe it’s my natural fear of anything wearing a straightjacket-whatever it is, I just can’t seem to get the hang of tightly wrapping this small human being like a Beef Gordita Supreme* (by the way, who is naming the products over at Taco Bell? Kim Jong-un?) Also, why do babies love being swaddled? I freak out if my parking spot is too tight. Perhaps it has something to do with their affinity for Houdini-esque* escape acts. You know, like locking yourself in a small container, underwater, for an extended period of time, and then appearing out of thin air to great applause/screaming. Of course, the main difference between Houdini and a baby is that Houdini doesn’t follow you home after the show and refuse to leave.
*Sorry, I lied about no more similes