Gene pool might be muddied

It has to be said that, at times, Ottawacker Jr. leaves me scratching my head. 

Today's snowfall and sudden dips in temperature had most sentient beings huddled under a duvet with a hot water bottle of a hot toddy. He, on the other hand, slipped out to shovel the drive. In his shorts.

Having had conversations with parents of other Canadian boys of the same age, I have been convinced this is a normal thing over here. I think I have already mentioned that he has a problem with it. Like Father Dougal and his rollerblading, Ottawacker Jr. loves his shorts. 

In his first year at kindergarten, in the dim and distant past, we were told by a concerned staff member that whenever they went outside for recess in the snow (i.e., from November to April), Ottawacker Jr. would slip behind the shed, take off his snowpants and wellingtons, and play soccer in his shorts and running shoes. 

We tried reasoning, bullying, explaining and shouting: none of it worked. Shorts would be smuggled out of the house in his backpack, under his trousers, in his coat pocket and, on one memorable occasion, in his lunchbox. Thankfully winter left us early that year and we avoided being reported to the Children's Aid Society. 

Other than that, a nice day, mostly. Had a long conversation with my friend Manni in Saarbrücken, cooked ham and potatoes for dinner (with parsley sauce and green beans), and then (here's the mostly bit) watched Home Alone with Mrs. Ottawacker and the plum of our loins.

Next-door neighbour's boy is going for a Covid test, which means... well, we all know what that means.