My shit doesn’t smell this bad after I drink mom’s milk. Pwew!”My mom said, walking in the nursery, “It did when you were his age. Oh, honey. ... said the red pants, not the jeans.”“Mom! We’re going to the mall. Nobody in their right mind goes to the mall in red corduroy pants. That’s like not cool.”“Okay then. You get to change him in the restaurant. The red pants slip right off and on. I always have to fight him to get those...”She stopped as Richie planted his feet on the mat and lifted his. Waving at me, she joked, "So, Paul, what's my dress code?"I glanced at her trim form in the chocolate-brown pants and shirt. "That looks hot. Feel free to wear just the vest and hat."The young girl who had been chatting with her mother looked in astonishment as the trim twenty-something police officer shucked her usual uniform and put on a pair of leather sandals, oiled herself down with suntan lotion, placed her badge and name tag on her florescent mesh safety vest, plopped her Mountie-style. More

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