To my horror, four months passed without her mentioning the baby once. I thought, my God, I almost procreated with a woman who really just wanted a dog. I had just committed to sharing my life with a woman whose judgment I now learn is severely impaired. But her desire has returned, only this time it falls on welcoming ears. My penis and I had some time to process the existential largess of this moment and we are now eager to go to the next level.
Rehearsals are over.
It's miracle time. But according to Erin's charts, this is the time. I can't help wondering if this method might somehow produce a child afraid to speak up, filled with guilt and anxiety. A pang of resentment rises from my penis. Feeling under-ridden in the scope of this moment, our moment, like Doug Flutie, watching from the bench as his team allows the playoffs to slip away.