2002-07-25
Sometimes when Clay sits in his little swing and folds his hands on the tray, he looks for all the world like a tiny businessman sitting at his desk. B and I imagined a Candid Camera segment where unsuspecting job applicants are ushered into a room for an interview and told , "Go ahead on in and start telling Mr. G. about your qualifications for the position. Don't be put off by his unconventional appearance or responses."
The tiny businessman look has also spawned a business--Claybyco--and a song:
How much could one baby know?
Enough to be in charge of Claybyco!
He's the president and CEO.
Soon he'll have his IPO.
When the stockholders see him, they'll call "Clayby! Yo!"
He's feeling good lately since Claybyco's second-quarter earnings slightly exceded expectations.
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An old friend who lives on the other side of the country was in town recently with her two kids, ages three and a half and five and a half. She brought them by one evening and they were a bit annoying. B and I both thought so.
I really hope that we're not destined to find every child besides Clay annoying. But I'm not that optimistic because lately I'm finding most every adult annoying. (Note I did not say "every adult besides B.") I hope this is a phase.
Near the top of the annoying adult list is my old shrink. The more I think about the situation, the more irritated I become. I feel like she is this rarefied purist type who, because she objects on principle to the hoops that stupid managed care programs put us through, has opted to treat only those with plenty of disposable income. Which is certainly her prerogative. But it makes me want to just find someone else, someone on the list of providers, someone who could use the work.
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