We're shooting pictures for the baptivation, which means bonnet experimentation. Oddly enough, all the bonnets seem to bear the side effects of Hat Growth Hormone.
Bug has been patient with it all lately: never questioning the idea of why she would wear a hat while we dump water on her, taking a gigantic nap today when Damn Wifus felt sick, and generally keeping her feces below the belt line.
I think she's partly just happy that we finally finished Mockingbird.
Bug: "Holy crap, is it over?"
Me: "That's it."
"Dad, you remind me of Atticus Finch."
"Because he talked a great game, but fuck me, he didn't have horse sense for shit."
"Bug, Atticus was a great man. He defended Tom Robinson when no one else would."
"Who the hell spends months with Tom Robinson and doesn't know that terrified son of a bitch is going to try to escape from jail? I fucking saw that coming and I've haven't been on earth for a trimester."
"He may have his flaws, but all great characters do."
"And what kind of a bunghat doesn't forsee that Macomb County's ODB is going to come hunting for the Finch kids? The fucking albino next door saw that coming."
"That's a very good-"
"I swear to Thor, Dad. If some crazy bastard ever threatens our family and you send me out on my lonesome, dressed up like a goddam slab of pigmeat, I'm killing him, and then I'm coming for your Jenny Craig-eating ass."
"A fucking ham costume. I swear," is the last thing I hear as I close the door behind me.