Another afternoon update. Another morning gone by and my body feels like it has been beat to hell for some reason. Who knew all this editorial freelancing would be so physically demanding? Copying, paper cuts; puncture wounds from paper clips and more. It’s hell, I tell you. Hell. Why just this morning I was accosted by a man who sells bathroom stalls for public bathrooms. Why did he accost me? I don’t know. Does Ugly Shirt Guy look like he needs to have a bathroom stall installed? No, he doesn’t. My regular bathroom is just fine.

But he had a really cool little bathroom mock up that even showed his new, state of the art latching system. Latch-o-matic or something. I was disappointed when the model didn’t actually flush. He seemed offended when I asked. Sigh.

We do have some good news today. It seems that Angie and Jeff are expecting a little Pudding Pop in April. I vote for an early arrival. April 21st is a great day to have a birthday. Not only would Pudding Pop share that day with me, but Queen Elisabeth II and Tina Yothers, of Family Ties fame. Yeah baby!

I congratulate Angie and Jeff on a job well done. I know conception is a difficult task that requires much thought; planning, diagrams and complex war plans. Trust me, you’ll enjoy being parents. It’s a tough job, but it’s rewarding. To see that little zygote take shape and grow into a thinking being is something that blows the mind. When that thinking being licks your ear and fills it with baby spit, well, there is no greater reward.

Speaking of thinking blobs . . . Mine is getting increasingly weird. I don’t know where it comes from. However, she’s falling into my hands and helping her older sister and I conspire against her mother for our benefit.

Case in point. On Sunday we spent some quality time at Target. Reason for going? Buying $10 dollar toy for birthday party. End result? $80 worth of crap. Target has a way of doing that to you. You go in for a Garden Hose and you walk out with a Phillip Stark designed tampon disposal unit. It’s a sickness. A sickness I tell you.

We were wandering around the baby department looking at clothes for Baby Gertrude. She didn’t need anything, per se. I just wanted her to have whatever she wanted. Since she’s still too young to know what she actually wants, I get to decide for her.

We found a cook Khaki jacket that is an exact replica of Dad’s retro-Fifties geek look. Gertrude had to have it. She had to look just like her daddy and be the slide rule of Daddy’s eye. I decided she needed it.

Mom, financial Nazi that she is, decided that she didn’t need it. She had a jacket. Three, in fact. All cute and all gender appropriate.

”Say bye bye to your jacket Gertrude,” I said.

“Ba ba” Gertrude says, waving.

The jacket went into the cart. But it wasn’t a guarantee yet. She also had to get this cute little Mickey Mouse outfit that would work as a Halloween costume as well as a cute outfit for the rest of the fall and early spring. At the check out, mom told me that we’d have to Veto one or the other.

“Say bye bye to your jacket Gertrude,” I said.

“Ba ba,” Gertrude said waving.

We got the jacket.

But now I had an idea. Whatever cute little baby wants, cute little baby gets as long as she displays ample amounts of cuteness.

Next stop: Ultimate Electronics. “Say bye bye to your Plasma Screen TV Gertrude.” But she wouldn’t play along. Did she not know how great Rolie Polie Olie would look on a Plasma? She’s got some learning to do.

But her cuteness didn’t stop there. Recently I placed a clock radio in my office/living room/dining room/TV room/children’s playroom. I was showing her how to work it. Press “Sleep” music appears. Press “Snooze” and it goes away.

She showed her amusement. Every time we pressed “Sleep” she’d grab onto the couch and boogie in that way only babies can. Bouncing up and down with an innocent glee. Turn it off she’d stop. We did this for fifteen minutes. I showed all the neighbors and videotaped it to show the powerful Hollywood producers who are looking for a cute bouncing baby.

She lost interest though. She wandered off to her plastic rocking horse, named Old Blue, and climbed on top and stood there squealing, as if to say, “I have no fear!” Then she took a header into the wall and laughed. And did it again.

That’s okay though. The song on the radio was the Edgar Winter Group’s “Frankenstein.” I think it has that effect on people.