Two of my sisters-in-law are expecting, as Lucy Ricardo used to say. She never said what she was expecting, and I always thought the crosstown bus might pull up in her living room, but now that I have actually ridden the crosstown bus, I realize that, while it is far less unpleasant than one would think, it is simply not going to provide that level of service.

So I’m going to be an uncle again and again. This is fine, as I am very avuncular, but the only of my existing nephews and nieces who currently realize this are the ones old enough to be bribed. “Who is your favorite uncle?” I will say, holding out a dollar bill. If I don’t hear the right answer, I get to keep it. Those who do not yet understand the almighty buck just look through me like a pane of glass. If I reach out and touch their arm, they react as if they have been attacked by a tentacle.

Sometimes I think it might be nice to get a child somewhere, but I have enough problems. Goblin Foo will tell you that it is no picnic being my responsibility. When she hasn’t wadded all of the sheets into a ball and burrowed inside, she NEEDS things. “Daddy I need food!” “Daddy I need water!” “Daddy I need to go outside!” Good lord, Goblin Foo, do I need to graft on an opposable thumb before you pull your own weight around here?