Okay. Let’s see. Clean diapers, fresh outfit? Check. Spare diapers, wipes and outfit in shoulder bag? Check. You, Pokey, strapped snug in carseat, with blankets to keep you warm? Check. Carseat snapped to stroller thing? Check. Bright, sunny, brisk Friday? Check. We’re all set.

Now let’s go flirt with Hot Moms.

Let’s get right out there to where the Hot Moms are and show ‘em what we’re made of, okay? Your diaper’s still clean, isn’t it? It was like five minutes ago, but boy can it sure ever change quick. Change as quick as you can cross your eyes and grunt and punch the air with your fists, that’s for sure. Fore I go, better be sure it’s still ...

Ah. Good. The stripe thing isn’t green, it’s yellow. (Though you’d think the stripe would become yellow, not begin yellow. The diaper people did not think this through.) Which means we’re ready to get out there to Hot Mom Park and flirt with Hot Moms, even though I haven’t flirted in a while.

I’m pretty sure it’s still the same, flirting. Pretty sure it still involves talking, some wit, some charm, a bit of lingering eye contact and a whole helluva lotta luck. I’m rusty, but how much can flirting have changed in … shit, it’s been a while.

Wow. That’s depressing. I just got depressed. How long it’s been.

We’re moving away from that thought, for the nonce. Happier thoughts now, ones that don’t involve the decided lack of flirting in daddy’s sad little – you know what? I bet with you on my side, you as an ally (or weapon, if you prefer), I’ll be flirting like a pro. (I’ve been trying to think of an upside to being a dad, and I mighta just found it.) These unsuspecting Hot Moms will see me approaching, stroller in front of me, and they’ll think, ‘Oh, sure, big deal, this guy’s got a kid, big whoop, kid’s prolly as goofy looking as his dad.’ As they peer round the hood part of the stroller to check you out, their expectations will be so low, no one could guess their expectations could go any lower.

At which point, Advantage (Squirrel).

Yeah, buddy, they will take one look at you and their opinion of me will skyrocket, kid. It will skyrocket. All my flaws will seem to matter less. You mask a lotta flaws, kid, what with your chubby cheeks, your blue eyes, your slightly-cleft chin, the way you grumble in your sleep, and I’m told women find your grumpy ‘I do not have what I want though I do not know what I want I only know I don’t have it’ face quite irresistible.

You know Cheryl? That woman you met the other day? She wants to kidnap you and I don’t think she was kidding. You know Laura? That woman you met when you met Cheryl? If I’m not mistaken, she’s now counting the days til you reach puberty. She’s probably scratching the days off the wall like they do in prison, Pokey. I’m amazed she didn’t ask to see your willy (though I’m glad, so very glad, she didn’t).

Yep. My flaws will matter not one iota. This is gonna be good. I am not afraid of this. I’ll be up to my ass in Hot Moms. It’ll be Hot Moms Aplenty. It’ll be like pushing a tray down the rails at Hot Mom Cafeteria. I might be rusty, at first, clumsy and ham-fisted, but the important thing for me to keep in mind when flirting with the Cornucopia of Hot Moms, the Amplitude, is not to let any initial setbacks set me back. If my flirting comes out desperate or weird, cut my losses, take my leave and move onto the next one. (Cause in Hot Mom Park, there’s always a next one.) ‘Practice Makes Perfect.’ How’s my breath, is my breath okay? I’ll bring mints just in case. A big thing of mints in my pocket.

Okay? But … but … but … hold on. Before we go and do something rash like … leave the house, let’s … just to be on the safe side, I should check to make sure I didn’t leave any burners on. Okay. I didn’t. Which means we’re …

And make sure all the power strips are off. Which they are. Good. Okay. Now we can …

And the laptop’s in sleep. Is it? It is. So …

And the fridge door is closed. Yep. Closed good and tight.

And the storm windows are cracked so a little of this breeze gets in so we can air the funk of your diaper smell outta the place. (Pokey, I love you and all that entails, but Mary Mother of Pearl, you have the place smelling like diaper.) Storm windows do indeed appear to be cracked. Good.

Nothing now stands between me and Flirting with Hot Moms. And I shaved and I showered and I remembered deodorant. I am as ready as I will ever be.

We should make sure your mom’s still asleep cause she doesn’t need to know I’m out using you as Flirt Bait, and it’d be just like her to be awake with her eyes closed, listening to me talk to you, and then when I get back after all that glorious flirting and I’m in a world of trouble. So let’s just make sure.

Hear that? That sound like someone’s imitating a motorcycle that’s having trouble starting? That’s your mom snoring and it means she’s in deep sleep. She can’t fake it cause she doesn’t know what her snoring sounds like. Yeah, she’s asleep all right. So we just got the all clear. The all clear.

Unless it’s raining or about to rain or the sky threatens rain off to the west or if we turn on the t.v. and the weather guy says it might rain sometime later today. We should prolly check the Weather Channel. Then the local then online then the newspapers.

Just to be sure. Just one last little … We don’t want you to catch cold. You catch cold while I’m out flirting with Hot Moms, and of that I never will hear the end.