Happy Fourth of July, Baby

My cats were starving. They acted like they wanted serious attention, only it was a ruse. Their bowl was empty and what was worse, there was no cat food in the bag, either. I know this because had there been food in the bag, the one cat not chubby enough would've jumped on top of the washing machine (the location of said bag), spilled the contents and then, just to show me that they do not mess around with an empty bowl, shredded the bag to bits.

In order to prevent this, I decided to go to the store. The store not 1/4 of a mile away. Five minutes away.

Well, it being the Fourth of July, my subdivision has a parade. The "floats" consist of people sitting on benches on top of a U Haul trailer pulled by one of any number of giant Ford 150s in the neighborhood. The float-bound celebrities (I think they just took volunteers from the crowd) golf-waved to the spectators.

And here's my point.

I've never seen so many babies in my life.

Single strollers, double strollers, strollers hooked to other strollers creating a train-like parade of infants not yet able to golf-wave.

They all look to be the same age and they all look to be the same baby. They may have been dropped from a helicopter hovering over my subdivision, dropping babies like rice on a poor nation.

All I can think of is there was a Neighborhood Fertility Day. I was most likely on my bike. (Although I would rather pull my toenails out one-by-one than celebrate THAT holiday.)

To make this cat food journey all the more interesting, I was nearly side-swiped by any number of mini-vans and giant Suburbans containing more babies. Here's an idea: walk the two blocks from your house!

Mommies overweight and dressed in blue capri pants and red short sleeved blouses with white stars all over them. (Rework the color scheme however you wish, just make sure to keep the stars on the blouse.) Daddies in khaki Bermuda shorts and tennis shoes and red or white or blue polo shirts. Babies dressed like other babies in little sailor suits or whatever is going to be most embarrassing when they're teenagers and having babies of their own.

Me on red scooter with short black shorts, loose red t-shirt, tattoos of phoenixes going up my calf meeting an unfinished dragon tail crawling down my hamstring. Oh, and let's not forget my pink and white Converse that have "peace and love" painted on the heels and flipping the bird to every gas sucking minivan trying to smoosh me like windshield garnish.

Anyway, the white baby population is taken care of in the south Austin suburbs.

Hobbies, people. Try one.