Oct 28 2003
A Conversation
?Look at this, Robert. My boobs are resting on top of my stomach. I feel like a balloon that?s on the verge of popping.?
He barely glanced at me, grunted, and returned his attention to his book.
“This would be so much easier if I could just lay an egg like a chicken and sit on it until it was ready to hatch. In my next life, I’m coming back as a chicken…no, wait, in my next life I’m coming back as a man–and YOU can be the woman!”
He turned back towards me and said, “if I were the woman, just remember that I’d drive you nuts by worrying about everything…is the baby OK, do you think it was ok for me to eat that donut, what if the baby is allergic to cats…”
“Being bugged by you worrying isn’t nearly as bad as having to do all the worrying,” I insisted.
He snorted in disgust. “If you were a man you would much rather be having a blow job than this this conversation and if you were to indulge me now I promise to indulge you when you’re the man…”
It took a second or two for the import of his words to sink in (pregnancy hormones slow down the mental processes, don’t you know). Once it dawned on me what he had said I shrieked in protest, picked up a pillow and started beating him with it. Men.
