Mrs Vache Folle and I had a nice weekend. We ate at the CIA on Saturday night. On Sunday, we went with our neighbors and their three small children to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Ordinarily, a trip to an art museum with small children is something that I would pass on, but our neighbors have done a pretty good job raising their kids not to be complete whiny ass titty babies, and their children are fairly intelligent and curious. I'm not saying they were perfect little angels or anything, but they were not the least bit annoying and they lasted as long as I did before suggesting that it was time to go (my brain was full).
The Met is pretty cool and is not just a bunch of paintings. I spent all my time in the Roman, Egyptian, and medieval sections. I spent a lot of time with the armor and the ancient firearms, and I reckon that I would have been in hog heaven if someone had brought me there as a child. If I had a son, which I don't, I would hope that he would be the kind of kid you could take to the museum. If not, I don't think I could love him. I can't imagine the pain of being burdened with a stupid child. What can you do if your child is a dumbass? I suppose if you can tell early enough that your child is lacking in the intellectual curiosity department, you can go ahead and try again to get a smart one, that is if you want to risk having two supid children.