Sunday Brunch

Yesterday my seven-year-old, The Fonz, told my wife, “Parenting must be hard, especially when you have kids.”

I would have answered, “Actually, parenting without having kids is even harder.”

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Christine Lagarde was selected this week as International Monetary Fund Managing Director.  I never received a response to my job inquiry email to the IMF.  Even more disappointing, Lagarde was selected without matching my campaign pledge not to break any world leader’s legs if he or she failed to repay money.

My two posts this week on the US $1 coin were part of a last ditch effort to demonstrate my financial acumen, although my wife has since informed me that the IMF chief is not responsible for designing US currency.  This knowledge makes the position less attractive, but I was still willing to give it a shot for the $500,000 salary, the IMF Director letterman’s jacket, and the opportunity to make wealthier, better-connected friends than my current collection of dead-end friends and family.

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This week’s post about the 95-year-old woman made to remove her adult diaper by the TSA, TSA Doesn’t Negotiate with Terrorists, Or Grandmas, is actually the grandmother of frequent commenter and zombie enthusiast Amy at fixitordeal.wordpress.com.  Read her post about the ordeal: you know it’s gonna be an interesting week when CNN calls your mom

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Today The Fonz had a friend over, and I told him to give the friend a tour.  He took him up to the second floor bathroom containing the kitty litter and said, “This is where the cat goes to the bathroom.”  That was the end of the tour.  Not sure why he thought this friend would be especially impressed with that part of our house above all others.

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Congratulations to Japecake for winning this week’s caption contest.  If you hope to one day approach Japecake’s fame and notoriety, start by submitting your caption in this week’s new contest.

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The Fonz earned some money this week and he told me he was going to place it in his money jar, the location of which has been a closely guarded secret.  Out of curiosity I tailed him and watched as he put his money under the kitchen sink.  When he spotted me behind him he admitted he kept his money in a peanut butter jar next to the other empty jars we kept under the sink because nobody would ever think to search for his money among a bunch of jars we recycled every few weeks.  I told him it was a good plan, but I wondered if he worried about someone mistaking his money jar for trash and throwing it away with the other old jars.  The look on his face was priceless.  He has since decided to move the money jar to another location.  I’m on the case.

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When someone complains about having a bad back, I always try to one-up them by mentioning I also suffer from a weak spine, although my difficulties are more figurative.