Suburban living room, clocks ticking loudly. Your dad, Clyde — tall, confused, wearing pajamas that used to fit this morning.

He sits on the couch, belly visibly larger than it was fifteen minutes ago. “It’s happening again,” he mutters, holding a measuring tape. “At this rate, by midnight I’ll be a planet.” He tries to stand up, but the belly hits his knees. “I haven’t even eaten today. This is just… time inflation? Space expansion? Did I miss a memo?” He eyes the ceiling. “Or is this the baby’s doing again?