Danish exchange student

I went for a stroll yesterday evening hoping the cool air would bring structure to my contemplations. Foremost on my mind was the afternoon my future son and I would sit down to draft his Nobel Prize speech while simultaneously curating an exhibition of his early paintings for an ambitious new Moscow gallery. The speech was coming together marvelously. The boy had a real knack for esotericisms and we laughed wholeheartedly at the bespectacled audience navigating the nuances. The exhibition was equally progressing. The press, anxious for a quote or a selection of the works to appear, were hounding the old boy, but he handled it all with such aplomb that one could almost absorb the adoration from the papers.

Just as the crowd in Oslo stood to applaud not only the boy, but his great forebears, a sigh and a vision brought me back to reality. Standing at the bottom of one my neighborhood streets' many alpine climbs and not more than ten feet away was a stunning blond in black boots, skintight leggings and swelling sweater measuring up a pair of enormous suitcases. Gathering my wits, I unveiled my cape and bounded toward her. A beauty.

"Allow me to help you with your suitcases," I gallantly offered.

She looked at me briefly and said, "No."

I persisted and availed. What beautiful skin she had. Incredible.

I admit I struggled to drag her suitcases up the hill, even asking her in a gasp what sort of content she, or rather I, bore.

"Clothes."

Undoubtedly.

Needless to say, I persevered and captured the necessary details. She was a Danish exchange student (there are gods) studying at some arbitrarily named college at the top of the hill (damn), and more importantly a block away from my house (super).

Now, to reward you, dear reader, for having read this far, I will get to the point. Instead of wondering which of the 64 tantric positions I have mastered would most suit her supple Scandinavian hips, another thought occurred to me. A thought I had never once thought in my life, nor ever thought I would think. Especially in the company of a gorgeous blond Danish exchange student...

The thought: well, it occurred to me that this young vixen might make a perfect babysitter. A babysitter for the future boy. The future Nobel Prize winning inventor, linguist, artist, philosopher king. I was stunned. Flabbergasted.

A babysister?! The alpha in my chromosomal make up must have leaked during that beginners yoga course.

I skulked away with my peacock feathers in a bunch. She muttered thanks, wondered if I were a potential stalker and entered her Danish exchange college full of showering silky skinned blonds... Potential babysisters, each and every one.