The Anxiety Closet

I can't use AIM until I get home, but the next time the chance arises to throw Ray and the Snorklewacker at each other, Ray has pretty regular low-level childrearing anxieties. Ecto's a little over two years old now, but at the developmental level of a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old and Ray has no slagging clue whether he's raising a GIANT METAL GENIUS TEENAGER correctly or what.

That seems like the most potentially entertaining anxiety of his. They tip rapidly into OH GOD I BLEW UP THE WORLD after a certain point.