My Son, Lady Killer. Creepy, creepy, lady killer

We have this Dora doll.  It's almost 3 ft tall.  The Pumpkin Man is in love with it.

It was cute at first.  He'd carry it around everywhere.  He'd sing, "Dora, Dora, Dora!"  When he dropped her, he'd bellow, "Oh No!"  All quite adorable.

Until the make-out sessions began.

Instead of talking and singing to her, he sinks to the floor, hands buried in her polyester filled head, and kisses her.  Passionately.  Noisily.  Right on the mouth

*Smack.*  *Smack*  *Smack*  *Smack*  "Oh Dorah!"  He breathily exclaims.

He won't let his big sister near her.

That has me imagining this:

Cut to 20 years in the future:

Knock at the door.  I open it.  It's my son with a woman of what appears to be latin descent.

The P-Man:  "Mom, Dad . . . I'd like you to meet my girlfriend, Dora."

Dora:  Hi, it's so nice to finally meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Homemaker.

We exchange pleasantries.  Move to sit in the living room.

Pman:  I'll go get us some drinks.  (exits)

Dora: (Whispering)  My real name is Louise!

Us:  What?

Pman:  (from kitchen)  Dora honey, what are you saying out there?

Dora: (To Pman) Uh, Backpack, Backpack! ( to us) Help me!

End scene.

In case you're curious how a man who held the record for detentions in his 5th grade is handling his daughter's first foray into the culture of school, you can find out today over at DadCentric.

Have good days you guys,

HM