Horsie The Dream Wrecker

My sister, her husband and I headed east this weekend for my cousin’s baby shower.

On Saturday morning my dad came downstairs wearing a “World’s Greatest Grandpa” t-shirt.  Which would be fine, except for the fact that my dad is not a grandpa.

But he has aspirations, and I can’t help but get the sense that as his oldest daughter, I may be getting in the way of his dreams.

My dad also loves the swap shop. The swap shop is where Yankees leave things at the dump that are too nice to throw away. Like doilies, jam jars and in some cases treasures like this:

So when World’s Greatest Grandpa went to take our trash to the dump and stumbled upon “Horsie” he couldn’t help but bring him home.  Horsie has now lived in our basement for approximately 36 menstrual cycles.  He sits next to “Moosie,” the 4-foot stuffed animal that my father rescued from the swap shop last summer with similar grandchild visions.

On Saturday afternoon while the women in our living room were “oohing” and “awwing” over baby presents like they were Fourth of July fireworks, my dad pounced on the chance to introduce Horsie to the crowd.  He ran down to the basement, retrieved his swap shop prize, and displayed him prominently in the living room, signaling to guests that our house is, in fact, “grandchild friendly.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he’s betting on the wrong horse. So I just hid my sister’s birth control pills instead.

Related Disasters:

• The Syntax of Submission