A Chicago father named Daddy has gone to new and unusual lengths to affect his child’s self-esteem by introducing a new “little brother” sack of flour to the family.
“It’s preposterous,” Bub, his son, said. “Parading around with, essentially, a bag of unmade biscuits, reading it my books, sitting it in my high chair. I’m embarrassed for him.”
“Well, IT has a name,” Daddy said. “It’s little unbleached baby Otis. So say hi to your new cribmate, buddy.”
Flour babies are generally used by middle school health teachers as an overblown anti-pregnancy exercise, wherein students carry their “baby” everywhere for a week to get a severely watered-down version of parental responsibility.
“I had one as a kid, so it’s part nostalgia for sure,” Daddy said. “Name was Roy. He was a good lad.”
And where is Roy now?
“Hotcakes,” Daddy said. “Some species do that you know, out of respect. And hunger.”
Asked about his motivations for psychologically wounding his firstborn, Daddy said: “Hey, just because you’re the only choice doesn’t make you the best choice. It’s like he’s running for Daddy’s Favorite with no one else on the ballot—that hardly seems fair. The real question to ask is why is he sweating a little friendly competition?”
“It’s a bag of flour!” Bub said. “How can I possibly compete with that?”
“He’s right to be nervous,” Daddy said. “I’m not one to play favorites, but I’d have to say Otis’ stock is skyrocketing right now.”
Did you just say that a sack of flour is preferable to your own child?
“Not just any sack of flour,” Daddy said. “My sweet, silent, baby Otis.”
“It doesn’t wake up teething or soil itself or cry during the game, so there’s that,” a noticeably upset Bub said. “Yesterday he was playing Ring Toss with it, for God’s sake.”
Asked if he had any words of wisdom to offer Otis, Bub said, “Watch your back, kid. I’ve got a muffin tin with your name all over it.”