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03/30/2005

Fire drill

In response to my last post, some of you are noodling around the question of whom you'd save from a burning building, your spouse or your kid. Putting aside the extreme unlikelihood of ever needing to make that choice, your comments have made me consider the question myself. I am finding it a difficult conundrum, so I have made a chart to help me choose. To wit:

PaulCharlie
SnoresSnorts
Admires my rackEyes my rack with a wary, hunted look
Acts excited and pleased when I handle his scrotumPees indignantly on me when I handle his
Bakes homemade sourdough breadProduces small-batch artisan cheese in the folds of his neck
Dark, luxuriant, glossy hairHair so much like a tennis ball, we might as well have named him Spalding
Whistles in the showerProduces a not unmusical noise from a more southerly sphincter in the bath
When he doesn't like what I've made for dinner, tactfully says nothing and simply refrains from going for secondsWhen he doesn't like what I've made for dinner, emits a bloodcurdling shriek, arches away with a horrible grimace, and, later, just out of spite, ejects his serving down the front of my black T-shirt
Smiles at me (teeth)Smiles at me (gums)
Lets me have sips of his milkshakeUm...no, thanks. No, really. It's okay.
Folds own pantsFouls own pants

I think the choice is clear. Unfortunately, since I am not strong enough to heft Paul in a fireman's carry, I will be leaving him and Charlie to roast marshmallows while I scramble to safety bearing one yowling cat on each shoulder. Listen, they'll be fine:

PaulCharlie
Loves the person I love bestLoves the person I love best

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