Baby's got an atom bomb 'cause it's cold outside.

As I was putting Firstborn into the car yesterday morning, I found myself singing a line -- the title, in fact -- from Baby, It's Cold Outside. Why? Well, partly because I'd just opened the garage door, so we were walking through a sudden wave of chilly air. Also, partly because I've been thinking about the social and historical context of the song lately.

Then we got into the car, and the stereo came up with Baby's Got An Atom Bomb...

...Whereupon Firstborn asked, "Is this song some kind of sequel to 'Baby, it's cold outside'?"

No. No, it's not. But it would be completely awesome if it were. Just imagine that storyline...

The first time I met her, she was a naive young girl, very proper. We hit it off -- boy, did we hit it off -- but she was worried about what her family would think.

When I ran into her again in Paris two years later, it was obvious things had changed. It wasn't just hair -- brunette replaced by a brilliant shade of purple -- or the fact that she'd obviously come into money. What really told me how much she'd changed was when she blocked my purchase of that black-market soviet warhead so she could acquire it herself. A good kid, like she was when we first met, well... she wouldn't have dreamed of doing something like that. Might cause talk.

Nice girls don't buy atom bombs. But she wasn't a nice girl any more. This was going to be... interesting.