The UPS man’s child.

It’s fun to daydream, isn’t it?  Brian and I just had an unexpected conversation about future children of ours.

Me, “Brian, if we have kids, will you want them to play sports?”

Brian, shrugging, “If they want to, I guess.”

Me, “Well, they won’t get that from my genes.”

(I’m terribly clumsy and uncoordinated.)

Brian, “They won’t get if from mine either!”

Me, “What do you mean?”

Brian, “Cause I’m a f&%#@ midget.”

Me, “You’re not a midget!”

(Though, he is two inches shorter than me.)

Brian, “Watch.  He’ll probably get genes from your side of the family, like Joey.  And he’ll be really tall.”

Me, “Yeah… and I know it’s unlikely, but I think it’d be nice to have a red-headed child.”

Brian, “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

Me, “You never know!”

Brian, “People will say it’s the milk man’s child.”

Me, “Except we don’t have milk men anymore.  Maybe the UPS man’s child.”

Brian, “If UPS would call me back and give me a job, maybe it will be the UPS man’s child.”