Dear Uncle,

I've noticed that your tactic for making me want to nap often involves exposure to the Beatles through the medium of dance. You play the same songs over and over again; it's making me think that grown-ups really like repetition. The fact is, you bore me to death most of the time, and pretending to be overtaken by slumber is the only means of ridding myself of your presence and stench.

But listen, it's getting to be too much. One more time, and I think I'll blow up in a milky sort of combustion. Don't you have eyes to see that I'm terrified?


And while we're at it, I'd like some space when I'm in my bouncer. It's bad enough when you get the camera out, let alone when you stick your huge melon within my bouncing radius. I bet you a six pack that it doesn't fool people into thinking you're a fun uncle.

Do you remember that time I was bouncing, and I punched you fiercely in the ear with my slimy drool hand? This photo was the one you took right before that. You should have learned by now that when I wink, I'm scheming. Man, did it feel good to wipe that goofy grin off your face...



Your nephew,
Ian