The best part of the baby registry for the dad-to-be is the scanner gun. Shooting lasers at things we need in the store is my job. I’m pretty good at it. Karli doesn’t really give me too much of a say on what we’re registering for, but she points and I zap those mofos. We do baby registries in spurts when we get out of Wilburton and into civilization, which means we usually go to one store right after another and kill an afternoon. It’s kind of like a video game where you get actual prizes at the end of it instead of putting vaguely dirty initials into the top scorers screen. Currently, I’m working my way toward the high score at the Kansas City Babies R Us.
Baby stuff is expensive. You knew that already, but it’s different when you look at the prices there in the store while you’re zapping them with your Buy-Me-Shit gun. By the time we left the other day, Karli said, “I feel like we just spent thousands of dollars.” We didn’t buy a damn thing. But it sure felt like it.
Maybe I’ve got a rich relative I didn’t know about and suddenly comes into the picture. Or, even better, a new rich internet friend who thinks I’m witty and charming and desperately in need of some Squatch stuff.