Growing bigger, growing older

fatbubba
Originally uploaded by billyjoebob.

Whilst the rest of the world continues to make big changes around you, punkin (and rest assured, there is a LOT going on), you continue on your journey to becoming, as your Uncle Dave puts it with such aplomb, "a massive unit".

Of course, he's plotting for your elevation to a cornerstone of the Carlton back line, much in the vein of SOS, but my goals for you are somewhat more pedestrian, being of the "just be a good human being" boring old dad variety.

The chief very big thing that's going on is that we are soon to move house. You see, punkling, the world as we know it works like this. Houses are very very expensive. Like, much more than a pie. Because houses are so very expensive, (more than several pies), if you want to buy one, you have to borrow the money off a bank.

Well we use the term "borrow" pretty loosely here. What actually happens is that a bank rents you the money. In the great and glorious world that is capitalism, however, in order for one to gain access to these astronomical sums, one must first prove that one doesn't actually need them.

So, in order for us to purchase for your childhood years a lovely weatherboard house in an inner northern suburb with easy access to public transport and primary schools and kindergartens and milk bars, we must jump through several hundred administrative hoops and fill in about forty brazillion forms.

Having done all this, of course, there's every chance that the powers that be will laugh in our general direction and, pointing to my small indiscretions of times past (remember how I told you to pay bills on time, punkin?), say that there is no way on earth that we can be trusted with said astronomical sum. Never mind, punkin, that we'll be pretty easy to find if anything goes wrong, given that they will Know Where We Live.

In any case, if such a calamity occurs, we will simply again take up the charm and delight that is renting a house from somebody else, for such a time as to allow said indiscretions to... drop off the page.

Of course, this entire rigmarole is immaterial to you, whose chief problems at the moment revolve around how precisely you can fit your entire left foot in your mouth, and what on earth is this rice cereal business, it's a poor substitute for the 2005 Chateau du Boob, that's for damn sure.


Love you.