Tummy Troubles in Kinaland

Daddy tries to write headline that won’t mortify future Kina

Do I need to explain this headline? I do not want to have to explain it. I am glad she is potty trained.

“Talk To Puppy. He Knows Me and My Angries.”

Yesterday, Kina made it clear to me that Puppy could have unlimited hugs, even as my affections were unwelcome. She repeatedly told me to have Puppy declare his love for her, to which she invariably replied, “Awwww!” and drew him close for a snuggle. Between each snuggle, she would tell me also to confess my love, replying, “I’m not dealing with this, Daddy. I am not. Dealing. With. This.” Then, this morning, as we were exploring her frustrations, she redirected me to Puppy, her anger agent, who explained to me at length why Kina was angry—silently, in a language that only Kina can understand. I remain perplexed.

Local Physician Buys New Doctor Kit

The house doctor got a new kit yesterday, complete with stethoscope (fake), syringe (fake), and cloth bandages (real). This means that (fake) checkups conducted on our couch no longer require that she use a duck call to listen to my heart, nor a ballpoint pen to give me a shot. When I came out of the bedroom this morning, I encountered several meters of gauze unspooled across the living room, and a pediatrician intent on giving me an injection in my knuckles. She applied a liberal smearing of fake Neosporin and shushed me. I’m feeling great.

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