guest post by chris
Today is farmer’s market day. I love farmer’s market day. My last book was Omnivore’s Dilemma by Michael Pollan, (I highly recommend it) and Kgirl is currently reading the 100 Mile Diet, so we have a whole new level of appreciation for local eating. Maybe one day if I succumb and start my own blog I’ll rant about farms and corn and my teenage years spent working in the fields. I still won’t eat corn to this day. But it’s all corn, man.
Anyways, the point of all this is on my way to the farmer’s market I pass this sign outside the East York Civic Centre, where the market is being held.
Man, some civil servant has a mean streak. Somebody has cried because of that sign.
It’s tears and sad unicorns again after work, so Bee gets a ‘feel better’ freezy, and we go for a ride in the stroller down to Shoppers Drugmart for new diapers and milk. Which is were things started to go awry for the first time this week. See, maybe it’s all the pesticides from the cornfields I walked through, or something, but I can’t remember shit half the time. I mean, there is no long term, short term, or medium term memory. Just no work good.
The good people at Huggies see, have developed a numbering system, and as a backup, a colour system, just for dads like me. If you can’t remember the number, hey, maybe it’s the green one. Or the brown one. Number 3’s with a Green Square? 4s in brown? Bee was definitely in 3’s but did we graduate to 4’s? Brown doesn’t seem familiar. Or is that more of a tan colour? Do I know tan? Is that familiar or do I just think it’s familiar? Did I leave the front door open? ummm, crap.
It takes me a full 5 minutes of wracking my mentally blocked (challenged?) brain before I realize I have, in fact, a diaper on me. Well, on Bee to be exact, who is sitting in her stroller still sucking on her freezy. I’ll just take a quick look.
So at this point for all you moms in Shoppers, I am either the weird ‘call the cops’ guy trying to peek down a little girl’s shorts, or the inept dad who has never changed a diaper before, rather than the truth, that I’m mentally handicapped and civil servants make me cry. Complicating this is I can’t take her out of the stroller or I’ll never get her back in. Either way, I can’t see a number or a colour, and I’m quickly getting odd looks.
“Did you have a pooper, love?” I say really loudly. Ha. No one will suspect a thing.
“No poopers!” Bee says indignantly. Sorry, love.
Back to the shelf full of diapers. I bet it’s green, the number 3’s. They go from 17 to 28 lbs, and Bee is hovering around 24-25. So that’s got to be it. Except, the 4’s go from 22-36 lbs. what the fuck. Why the overlap?
Executive decision says the 3’s. I grab some milk, and on impulse some sliced turkey. Bee and I eat turkey cold cuts all the way home, where, I discover, we already have sliced turkey. And number four diapers.