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My walk on the Danforth was interrupted when tires squealed and the JDawg pulled up. Get in, he yelled.

I noticed a brand new duffel bag in the back seat.

He smiled. That, my friend, is the answer to all my problems.

A duffel bag? JDawg is about to become a father for the first time, and I was becoming suspicious about his delight in the leather sack.

It’s like this, see, I can’t have my life interrupted by my new family member.

Wait, I stammered, grabbing the steering wheel to avoid hitting a pedestrian as the JDawg cruised through a red light.

I’ve got to golf, go to the track, play cards, I’s gots to be me!, he hollered.

Okay, you’ve got to be you.

He winked and nodded appreciatively. See, I figured it all out. That bag, he jabbed a meaty thumb in the direction of the back seat, is my investment in my freedom. A couple of towels on the inside, I puts Junior in the bag, give him a half pint of Guinness and, boom, the day is mine.

He was cackling uproariously, oblivious to the fact we had mounted the sidewalk.

I zip up the kid, he guffawed, and carry him around the greens, whose gonna notice? I can even pack him in an overhead bin and travel! I’m the frigging father of the year!

He was laughing so hard tears were squirting from his eyes. He slammed on the brakes as we approached The Rail. He was bent over in convulsions, laughing with such intensity that he began to vomit and choke.

I climbed out of the car, taking the duffel bag with me.

Flagging down a cop, I explained a junkie seemed to be having a seizure. The cop raced over to JDawg. It would only take a couple of seconds for her to observe the vial of coke I’d left on the dashboard. JDawg would be seeing the baby through bars.

I couldn’t help myself.

I love children.