No beans in this oven

<div xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#" about="http://www.flickr.com/photos/alvarez-tostado/363243449/?addedcomment=1"><a rel="cc:attributionURL" href=While riding the subway one day, a woman got into the car carrying a 176-count box of Pampers.  According to the carton, it was their largest “everday” size.  Apparently there exists another, larger “special occasion” box for some sad mother to lug through a retail outlet, then wedge into a car or maneuver onto a public conveyance.  The idea that more than 176 diapers can be purchased at once, and contemplating a baby-pooping situation involving the rapid consumption of said diapers almost sent me into shock.

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Cruisin' for a bruisin'

Even at my age, if someone wanted to gather together a group of my peers and engage us in some age-appropriate activities I’d be on it like a Westside whore on a New Jersey businessman.

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Can I make a citizen's arrest?

Admittedly, I know nothing about raising children.  I don’t have any kids, and I’ve never really taken care of anyone else’s kids when they weren’t around.  So I’m not exactly qualified to give any advice on disciplining your children or anything remotely related to it.  But I do have common sense, and I am a (mostly) mature adult.  I don’t know everything, but I definitely know this.

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Baby love, my baby love

hp_baby_BPH027_final_bWhen I was younger, I didn’t like babies.  You had to hold them up and carry them around, and they never talked back when you spoke to them (I’ve always been big on the conversation) so what was the point?  And they cried and you couldn’t do anything about it.  Whenever someone asked if I wanted to hold their baby, I’d politely decline rather than risking the inevitable resulting crankiness.  Truth be told, I was a little afraid of them, thinking that in their innocence they’d somehow see through my carefully constructed exterior to the real me.

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