Gavin enjoyed every night that week at the bar, with his friends. At first he was cautious about bringing out Piss-ant to show him off but a few beers into his first night, with his fire-fighter buddies drunk and rowdy around the table, he dragged the sorry little runt out from the side of his boot and held him up like first prize.
"Is that the runt?" A man named Jimbo asked in disbelief. He was 6'2" with a handlebar moustache to make up for his bald head. He didn't like cocky younger guys like Piss-ant and delighted in holding him, squeezing him, calling him by his new name.
Gavin looked as smug as can be as the guys passed around his minuscule son, congratulating Gav on getting the little shit under his thumb for once and for all. For the rest of the night, and every night to follow, Piss-ant was the butt of every joke and game the men enjoyed. He was buried in beer nuts and hunted out by the big, oafish fingers of his father's friends, who shoved him to their mouths and pretended to accidentally chow down on him like dopey fairytale giants. He was too blinded by salt and the stale stink of their breath to see the humour.
"Is that the runt?" A man named Jimbo asked in disbelief. He was 6'2" with a handlebar moustache to make up for his bald head. He didn't like cocky younger guys like Piss-ant and delighted in holding him, squeezing him, calling him by his new name.
Gavin looked as smug as can be as the guys passed around his minuscule son, congratulating Gav on getting the little shit under his thumb for once and for all. For the rest of the night, and every night to follow, Piss-ant was the butt of every joke and game the men enjoyed. He was buried in beer nuts and hunted out by the big, oafish fingers of his father's friends, who shoved him to their mouths and pretended to accidentally chow down on him like dopey fairytale giants. He was too blinded by salt and the stale stink of their breath to see the humour.