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Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

A few days ago Ol’ Robbo received a package from Sistah consisting of a great many photographs she culled from the Mothe’s albums, which she thought I would like to have.  They seem to cover every part of my misspent yoot from infancy up to my graduation from law school, and include the famous shots of me, four years old with flaming ginger hair, buck naked and drinking out of the garden hose.  Most of them were quite familiar, although it’s been years since I’d seen them, and it was genuinely pleasant to go through them again.

Naturally, because such things attract them like catnip, the Gels immediately descended on the photos, and have pretty much been rolling about on the floor, laughing their heads off since then.

Okay, maybe I was an über-dweeb for much of my yoot and adolescence.  Okay, maybe my college girlfriend did have crazy eyes. Okay, maybe that law school Halloween costume was….poorly chosen.  But I’m still Dad, dammit, and entitled to some respect.

Furthermore, I know where all the photos of their misspent yoots are kept, too, and if they don’t knock it off, it’ll be a dark day for them indeed when they bring their young gentleman friends home to meet us.

These things work both ways, you know.

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