on baptism and greased palms

The Nephew That Is So Fucking Cute I Want to Die was christened on Saturday. My wee man was totally chill as the priest dumped cold water on his head. In fact, the only noise he made the whole time was just a tiny yelp when the chrism oil was applied. However, the yelp was soon replaced with a look of sheer relaxation as the priest rubbed the oil into his head to keep it from dripping. The Nephew enjoys a good scalp massage, apparently.

My uncle who lives in Toronto came down for the ceremony. He is the same uncle who, despite his age, can really tear it up on the dance floor. Furthermore, he's the same uncle who sends me and the younger sister money every Christmas while the two oldest McDimple Girls don't get shit.

Mind you, I'm going to be 32 (in 9 days in case you're interested) and my younger sister just turned 30. We protest and remind our aunts and uncles of our age but well, we're the youngest of all the first cousins so I guess that makes us ageless. As such, they continue to grease our palms with twenties in person and send us pound notes and international money orders in the mail for birthdays and holidays. I have to say, it's ample compensation for all those years we were sentenced to the folding kiddie table.