This child is not mine

Sometimes, I truly wonder if The Dictator is genetically mine.

I mean, sure, he looks exactly like me...well, a smaller, blonder, penis-carrying version of me, but still...we're pretty damn close.

I see him every day and I feel 100% sure that he's my child.

Most of the time.

Then, there's other times...like tonight, when I walked in the living room and saw this:

Can't tell what he's eating? Here's a bigger picture for you:

DO YOU SEE THOSE? Those horrid, green, foul-smelling farm belongings on my coffee table? Those are snap peas.

Snap peas.

BLEEEEEEEEEEEECH.

And my offspring is eating them. Not sweetened, not cooked, not rolled in powdered sugar and deep fried...raw. He's eating them raw.

Obviously, there was a mix-up in the uterus.