Ahhh. A serene family dinner. We're practically a Norman Rockwell painting, for goodness' sake! You can almost feel the warm glow of familial love radiating peacefully out at you, can't you? The only thing marring this lovely scene is the look on my father's face. Is he laughing? Screaming? What, in the midst of all this tranquil togetherness, could possibly be causing such an expression to occur? Let's take a closer look, shall we?
Aha! A more detailed analysis of the scene reveals the source of Gramps' distress and/or hilarity. Max, left to his own devices with some ravioli, has been quietly creating a mess which radiates outward for an alarming number of feet on each side. He seems to have dyed his eyebrows red with tomato sauce, there are pasta bits up his nose, and we haven't even discovered what may have been lost down the front of the diaper yet!
Once the coating with slime is as complete as Max can make it, he of course requests a hug. Despite our appearance of all-encompassing love, Max has trouble getting his request met. For some reason, not only is no one hugging him, but they are hastily backing away from the table. What kind of bonds does this seemingly happy family really share, if they can be so easily shaken by a little tomato sauce? Oh, the seedy underbelly of any family dinner is a dark and disturbing thing to behold! Is there any real love to be found anywhere, or is it all just a shallow facade?