The nurse brought my mother the wrong baby: a chubby, robust, Italian bambino.
"This isn't my baby!" Mom aptly observed.
A quick exchange was made, and the rest is history. I often wonder what would have happened had the babies not been exchanged.
I'd probably be in a Hoboken restaurant today making calzones. Which actually isn't a bad idea.
My regular readers are undoubtedly wondering why I post the above photo so frequently.
Well, it's because I had a decent haircut. I was disarmingly innocent. I actually had a pair of socks that matched. And it's the first and only time that I ever looked good in shorts.
(sunburned and soused)
And I usually avoid being photographed because I only look my best at a distance of fifty yards, in a heavy fog.
Old age is a bitch and a half.
I'm definitely aging quickly in this wild mountain wilderness.
If I survive, this is what I'll probably look like in another year:
By the way - Happy Birthday to Susan!
(we share the same day)
I Think, Therefore I Yam