Back at around Christmas time, I got up from my nightly slumber and wandered in to the bathroom for my morning ritual of…well..it doesn’t matter. But lets just say it involves a paint brush, dental floss, a copy of Hello magazine and some ginger nut biscuits. After finishing my ritual, and being a little thirsty from it all, I noticed that my wife had left a glass of apple juice on the side of the sink. “bloody marvellous!” I thought as I thought back to the time she watered down an expensive whisky of mine with coke. Revenge is mine! So I picked it up and took a nice big gulp.
It was piss. And I don’t mean in the “Eww…cheap Apple Juice!” way. It was literally a cup of my wife’s warmest urine. I should have noticed by the way it was warm in the glass, but my blocked up nose also stopped the smell warning me before it touched my lips.
Acting as if I hadn’t just took a swig, I finished vomiting and called to my dear wife. “Hunny…why do you have a glass of urine on the side?”
“I need to do a test” came the response. Oh great. So has she got some dodgy STD and I just put it in my mouth and in a few days time will find mushrooms growing out of my manhood?? was the first thing that came to my mind. But no, in she wandered with a stick. Unwrapped it, jabbed it in to the now half empty glass of urine. About that time she said “You know, I swear there was more in there!” looking at me as I continued to scrape my tongue and stretch my jaw muscles in disgust.
Well shock bloody horror. The test came up positive. Of course, you knew that was coming so lets move on. 12 weeks later we went for a scan.
I would put up a copy of the scan we had, but you know, I can’t be bothered to, and you can’t be bothered to see it. So here is a dramatic representation of what we saw drawn by my own fair hand. Yes, I am impressive. Thanks for mentioning!
Good isn’t it. I was going to use different colours and stuff, but I was also busy doing other stuff while I was writing this post. It is called Dominos Pizza. Food. WAY more important than you will ever be to me.
Of course I didn’t mean that. No…don’t cry. I love you. Really. Sort of. Fine. Go away. I lied when I said I loved you. It was all about getting you in to bed.
So anyway. I have concerns over the second coming of the fruit of my loins. What if it is a girl? Bear in mind that here is the contents of my house:
Wife – Female hormones
Daughter – Female hormones
Cat – Charlie – Female hormones
Cat – Danni – Female hormones
Cat – Yogi – Bloke. Kind of. Well…I think this image pretty much covers his intelligence level:
So if the growing sprog isn’t a boy…well…I will be looking to move in with some of you for some male hormone “grrr! Baywatch! Girls in bikinis” kind of action.
That…or I am gonna be sending the kid back.
On mentioning the option of sticking the new sprog back in straight after birth if it is the wrong colour, I was met with the following equation:
Her foot + My tackle = No more kid regardless now.
In unrelated news, I now speak in a very high pitched voice and have male breasts in the shape of my testicles. Holy crap that girl kicks hard.
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