Saturday, September 2

My Chosen Consort, Darth Continent

Upon reading the last dispatch from Herself, you may be tempted to conclude that She is exaggerating slightly. While I usually encourage people to give in to temptation, as it is a quick path to the Dark Side, in this case, Herself is not exaggerating in the least. A giant, liquid- and baby-filled behemoth is in My home RIGHT NOW. While I am aware that this is only a temporary condition, and that Herself will soon reassume Her normal body state, it is incumbent upon Me to point out the fact that I get to suffer along with Her. I get to be awakened when She cannot sleep. I get to help Her move Herself around. I get to massage Her aching extremities. I get to experience a blow-by-blow of all the complaints listed in the previous post. She gets the pity, and I get to be the brutish thug who knocked her up. Very well, so be it. I need no pity. But I promise you this, by all that is unholy:

The next person to ask Me if I am excited will receive My full, unadulterated, unexpurgated, bone-flensing wrath. And that person will experience said wrath for all of eternity, or until they expire, whichever comes first.

My excitement died along with my full night's sleep. I do not blame Her, She cannot help it, but the rest of humanity needs to shut the hell up with the stupid questions already. Of course I will be excited when TWITCH arrives. Now, I await that arrival. It should be obvious to anyone who possesses the ability to breathe with their mouth closed that I am delighted to have a TWITCH on the way. Forgive Me if I refrain from gibbering like an idiot about it everywhere I go.


Doug said...

Our society of hype has brainwashed people into believing excitement should precede the event rather than coincide with the event.

You have the whole rest of your life to be excited about your child. At least some of that time.

Darth Continent said...

I feel a disturbance in my bowels...