Let's Get This Straight

 
I'm a red-blooded American Male. I dig fast cars and (if I wasn't married) loose women. I change my own oil; I mow my own lawn. If I had a pool, I would clean it regularly. I drink my scotch neat and when it was hip, I smoked cigars. When I was a teen-age boy, I had a poster (purchased at Pamida in Wahpeton, North Dakota) of Heather Locklear.

That, my friends, is a cute onesie. Look at the little zipper with the little button clasp at the top. Cute, cute onesie. It has little moons and stars all over it. You can't really see them, but the feetsies of the onesie have little, rubbery pads. It's like there's hope that he might suddenly get up and walk even though, when he's walking for real, this onsie would cover, like, half his body. It's a hopeful, cute, cute onesie. If Plato had written about onesies, this would be his "ideal onesie".

Somebody will have to remind me of this picture thirteen years from now when he is wearing his clothes in whatever screwy way kids will be wearing their screwy clothes. For now, the onesie will do.