avuncular obligations

i have a nephew. he's twelve months old. today's his birthday. where do i fit in? what's the point of uncles anyway? comic relief? a source of occasional gifts? a warning to others? apart from making me feel old (well, 30s is old) it won't be so bad. he's too young to answer back, point out my faults, beat me at squash, or pull a face at the present i've got him. that's a relief.

and there's cake.

the gift in question is a form fitter. a kind of a box with holes which admit specifically-cut shapes. it's something to get the little squirt's neurons buzzing and his synapses surging. i remember don adams tried, and failed, to solve a similar puzzle on "get smart".

now i think about it, maybe nephew would have more fun with a book of rorschach tests. imagine how much fun doctors had in the 50s confining people away on the basis of these dodgy ink-blot tests. wouldn't we all like to exercise that privilege over work colleagues, former loves, people who don't return calls, and other motorists?

in case you were wondering, i'm sorry, you don't get to see nephew. his parents would be cross.