SSDD

Can you believe that shmuck is going to be responsible for raising a child? Anyway, nothing new to report today...still no baby, and no signs of him having an interest in sliding down the escape chute either. Instead, I thought I would post a hand-dandy little guide to allow you (the males, anyway) to see if you too are ready for fatherhood. This is taken from my upcoming never to be acutally finished or published book I'm Sorry I was a Poop Head and other Conciliatory Phrases. It details my mental state shorty before conception actually occured...about a week before, actually, if memoty serves.

Scene: Sailing along on the S.S. Domestic Bliss, just after dinner on a Thursday night. The love of my life has arrived home from work a few minutes ago, and is checking her e-mail while I play a computer game online. After a few minutes of casual “How was your day” conversation, the phone rings. Since she has just arrived home, I decide to be a shining example of everything a husband should aspire to and get the phone.

Our answering machine, like most manufactured in the last few years, picks up automatically after 4 rings. I have been meaning to see if there is any way to change that setting, but like any good twentysomething Gen X'er, I chose the path more slacked instead and never got to it.

So the phone rings once. I look to my left, to my right, and don't see it. Second ring. Time's passing, but I'm not too worried. I wasn't home the night before, and I know my parents called to talk to my wife. So I assume she put it back on the cradle because, well, she's responsible like that. Into the kitchen I saunter, whistling a happy little tune. I freeze-- the phone's not in the cradle. Third ring, and I'm getting desperate. Time is ticking and I'm no closer to wonderful wireless telecommunication.

Great battles in history are often decided before the first salvo is fired. True, there are critical junctures in most skirmishes that affect the outcome somewhat; however, it is the planning and intelligence exhibited by those in command before the field is taken that pushes one side to glorious victory.

Yeah, well that works both ways.

Since I can't find the phone, my course of action is clear-- ask my wife, nicely, where said phone is. Unfortunately, my teeny little male brain belays that order, and... “Where the hell did you put the phone?!?” I bellow. Damn it. Thaaaaat's not going to go over well. Somewhere, deep inside, I don't care. All I want at this moment in time is to find the damn phone.

“I don't know, I didn't...” she says, a bit surprised. I should probably mention that yelling from room to room is one of my pet peeves... one I'm blatantly ignoring by doing myself.

“Well, you had it last! I can't hear you! AAAAAARRRRGGHHH!!!!!!” Fourth ring. Machine picks up, and my wife comes into the kitchen, looking fairly ticked off. We both freeze to hear who is calling. It's her mom.

At this point, most sane men would apologize for losing it a little, especially if the phone call wasn't even for them. I, however, have never made a claim relating to my sanity, and instead begin throwing accusations. “Well, where is it? Where's the phone?”

She's has clearly taken all she can and/or will take, and returns my volley.

“I don't know, you probably left it somewhere! Did you look in the bedroom?” she spits at me.

“Why would it be in the bedroom? And there's no way... YOU HAD IT LAST! I know you did! You talked to my parents last night! Rawrr rawrr rawrr!!!” Ok, so that last bit I didn't actually say, but that's what it sounded like in my head. I continue bellowing as I stomp up the stairs. She follows, yelling back at me, deflecting accusations and defending my attacks on her good reputation as wonderful wife and all around best friend.

“Look, I KNOW you had the phone last, so where is the $#%#$%ing thing? God, you ALWAYS do this!”

She doesn't.

“I can never find it!”

I can usually find it pretty quickly.

“Why are you being such a poop head?” she yells at me from the bottom of the stairs. That shocks me long enough to stop moving, and I glare down the stairs at her. Slowly, I flip her the bird. And make little kissy noises with my mouth.

I have completely lost my mind.

I just flipped off my wife, the person I love more than anything in the world because I can 't find the phone. Well, thank God I had a good reason for it.

Be sure to join us for tommorow's installment, in which we check to see if you guys can handle the terror an airport riddled with children can bring.