Today my impossible dork of a firstborn, who we have nicknamed “Wump” for the purposes of social media, is ten years old.
Last weekend, we were up at the family cottage for midsummer. A few of the adults decided to take a variety of inflatable pool toys and some beers and float out into the middle of the lake to be away from the noisy kids for a little while. Wump got in the fishing boat and rowed out to us because she wanted the same.
When I told her she could have brought more beers out with her, she responded with, “sorry I’m not an alcoholic.”
This is the level of wisenheimer we’re dealing with here.
Here she is at one of her favouritest places in the world, the sushi train in Easton mall. Sunglasses for extra sass, and because it was one of the first times she’s been allowed out of the house since the lockdown in March (and it was dark then).
Here she is in her volunteer firefighter gear.
Here she is with the parents she wants to have but she has me and Mrs. Hatboy instead.
And here she is with her equally dorky little sister Toop, getting ready to win Halloween.
And just in case you thought I was kidding, here she is at the sushi train again.
Happy birthday Wump. I am proud of you to an almost unseemly degree.
I’m not often driven to introspection or reflection, but the question does come up sometimes. The big question. So big, there’s just no containing it within the puny boundaries of a single set of punctuationary bookends.
Who are these mysterious and unsung heroes of obscurity and shadow? What is their origin story? Do they have a prequel trilogy? What are their secret identities? What are their public identities, for that matter? What are their powers? Their abilities? Their haunted pasts and troubled futures? Their modus operandi? Where do they live anyway, and when? What do they do for a living? Do they really have these fantastical adventures, or is it a dazzlingly intellectual and overwrought metaphor? Or is it perhaps a smug and post-modern sort of metaphor? Is it a plain stupid metaphor, hedged around with thick wads of plausible deniability, a soap bubble of illusory plot dependent upon readers who don’t dare question it for fear of looking foolish? A flight of fancy, having dozed off in front of the television during an episode of something suitably spaceship-oriented? Do they have a quest, a handler, a mission statement, a department-level development objective in five stages?
I am Hatboy.
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THE SUSHI TRAIN IS OPEN AGAIN!?
Also yay Wump!
Oh, it’s open. All aboard, motherfuckers.
Oh it is on like Donkey Kong!
Happy Birthday Wump!
I had sushi yesterday too! What a co-inky-dink! Also happy birthday, Yahtzee!
 Inside joke