“Remember this one, honey?”

Smoothing down his loud Hawaiian shirt and sinking into the couch, pizza-box on lap, Jimmy held out the photo album, letting out a brash, Texan laugh.

“Oh they look so happy!” Crooned his destructively overbearing wife Pam, stroking the picture lovingly. “That guy in the mouse costume though? What a jerk…”

“I only wanted to get the picture right, why did he have to be so god-damn rude?”

His jowels shaking with indignity at the memory of their Florida holiday, an escaped glob of pizza sauce flew from one of Jimmy’s chins and landed with a satisfying squelch on the celluloid head of his then 11-year old son, Marty.

“Look what you’ve done now, Jim!” squawked Pam angrily as he hastily rubbed at the stain with a stubby finger. Trying to wrench the photo from his sticky digits, Pam only succeeded in neatly ripping it in two.

Trampled underfoot in the ensuing argument, the now severed images of Marty and that ‘god-damn’ mouse didn’t look like they missed each other at all.