By James Shackell
You’ve waited the requisite week or two. You arrive on camels bearing gifts of frankincense and beef casserole. Your friend opens the door and – after examining your whooping cough vaccination certificates – ushers you reverently into the nursery. And there, cooing softly in the cradle, is… gah, DEMON, demon child, spawn of Satan, Lovecraftian horror from the abyss! From hell’s heart I stab at thee!
You: “Aww mate, she’s adorable. What a little angel.”
Friend (with a sort of insincere, self-deprecating chuckle): “Hah, yeah she’s pretty cute.”
OK, I’ll say it, your baby is ugly. I won’t say it to your face, obviously, because that would be rude, but I’ll definitely say it to my wife in the car ride home. And that’s OK, because one…
