Bubby, the Baby, not the Dog

Once upon a time, I was a non-pregnant high schooler. I had non-pregnant high schooler friends, for a while. One of those was my friend, Amy. More than once we were dubed "twins," due to a somewhat similar look (brown hair and eyes, va va voom body with a little waist and good hips with big boobs, ah the days...), similar interests, and our close friendship. Yes, the twin thing got more than a little cute after a while. Fuck, we didn't dress the same. Although there was that year with the poufy bangs. I digress.

Amy's dad brought home a puppy one day. Instead of ever naming this dog, they simply called him "Puppy." That is, until the puppy was a big ass dog that took the combined strength of both Amy and me to walk. At that point, Puppy wasn't a puppy. Amy's dad couldn't exactly change the dog's name. He'd been Puppy for nearly a year. Instead, he changed it to Bubby.

Mike's brother, Jamie, recently had a son. I'm sure you've read all my posts and know all about my new nephew, Lake. Lake's daddy has taken to call him Bubby.

I can. not. call. this. child. Bubby. He's not even hairy although I'm sure he slobbers about as much.

I know you care nothing for my words here, blah blah blah. I know, you want pictures.