I posted recently about all the wacky gifts my baby son received this holiday season: clothes he’ll outgrow in two weeks, toys he won’t be able to use for two months, books he won’t be able to read for two years, and devices that make enough noise to ensure I’ll be insane in two minutes.
But there was one gift he received that stood above all others. But I’ll be damned if I’m ever going to let him use it…
My son can’t watch the Wire yet – read this to find out why (it’s not because of the violence) – but he can at least post with the this amazing bib! See below for evidence.
A little back story on the gift: I have this friend – let’s call him Tommy Baltimore. (His name is Tommy. And he lives in Baltimore. And he can’t stop talking about the fact that his name is actually Tom, not Tommy, and that he lives in Baltimore. It’s kind of sad, really. We get it, Tommy. Relax.)
Anyway, a few years ago I noticed his enthusiasm for his “hometown” (he’s actually from the burbs!) and recommended he check out an amazing new TV show that takes place there. He shrugged me off for a while but he eventually succumbed, and now he acts like this show didn’t even exist until he started talking about it. But we know the truth, don’t we, Tommy?
The Truth: YOU OWE ME FOR TURNING YOU ONTO “THE WIRE” AND DON’T YOU FORGET IT.
He does owe me. But I owe him, too. A few years back he sent me a shirt from Baltimore. A “Wire” shirt. I often wear it to the gym and to this day, when I’m working out, I am frequently accosted by large black men who wish to compliment me. On the shirt, usually. BUT NOT ALWAYS.
Anyway, sending me that shirt was very nice of Tommy. But it wasn’t as nice as the gift he recently sent to my son for Christmas. Take a look:
That’s right, it’s a bib featuring everyone’s beloved gay-urban-gangster-Robin Hood, Omar. Although I took a few pictures of my son wearing it, this bib is not really meant to be used the way a bib is typically used. If you think I’m gonna sit there and let some little white bitch wipe his drool all over my man Omar’s face, then you clearly don’t know me or Omar. Omar don’t truck with no sissies and neither do I. Well, actually, in one sense of the word, Omar spent a lot of timewith sissies. But you know what I mean.
Long story short, my son will never again be allowed anywhere near his gift. Instead, the Omar bib will be framed and hung in the front hallway of my home as a warning that drug dealers, po-po and lame-o babies whose parents watch terrible television aren’t welcome in my house.
Thanks Tommy B!
Buy your own Omar bib here whether you have a baby or not. You deserve it.
Abbey Christine’s Etsy shop features all sorts of pop culture-related baby items. Check it out!
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