Dad charges off to run errands with his fly unzipped, oblivious to the efforts of his son to clue him in.
Grownups, at least, will definitely find the joke stretched too thin here, as young Joe somehow finds himself somehow unable to get his father’s attention on the drive, at the laundry and post office, during a layover for a nap with a spot of fishing and then on to some shopping. Adding to Lindaman’s frequent double-entendres in her mostly dialogue narrative—“Let’s zip through this list, okay?”—Carlson supplies a confused-looking housefly (a fly, get it?) along for the ride, plenty of peeks at Dad’s colorful jockey shorts showing through and a succession of amused (but silent, the crumbs) adult observers. The art, as overworked as the premise, is a busy muddle of sudden changes in angle or scene separated by too-thin borders, dialogue balloons that elbow their way into adjacent panels and angular vignettes set off by zipper lines. Dad does get the message in the end, though it has to be delivered through a grocery store’s public-address system.
A visual jumble, but a probable source of high-fives and hilarity for children old enough to be embarrassed by their parents. (Picture book. 5-8)