(So I'm having my dinner, when I get a package delivery. I open it up, and it's a disk. After scanning of viruses and such, I find out that it's apparently the musings from myself 33 years from now. Here's the entry from August 1, 2038.)
My grandson is starting to ask questions. His first one was "why is mommy's first name Four?" I wanted to ask him why my daughter insisted on giving him the name Jake. Not Jacob, but Jake. He's only eight now, but he'll get a complex about it in a few years. She rode the wave of President Butch-mania, now her child will have it in for her when he grows up.
Anyway, the answer I gave was this: "Well, your mother is special so I gave her a special name. I just wasn't expecting her to use it."
"Why?"
Boy, I hated that when the kids were, well, kids. "Why? Why? Why?"
"She was special because I gave birth to her."
"Oh."
Not "wow," but "oh." The little ingrate. (I know, I know. Children are precious, blah blah blah.) They've only had male pregnancy for 30 years and the current generation is so blase about it. In order to impress upon this child just how important this was, I had to give him the whole story. Well, the G rated version.
"Your grandfather & I were very happy living in Toronto, but something was missing. The penthouse felt lonely with just the two of us there."
Lie #1: I thoroughly enjoyed having Ken gone half the time. It meant that I could actually finish my scripts. Besides, we had those multi-purpose wall length videophones/television/computers. That man could check on me whenever he damn well felt like it. And he didn't, that's why I love him.
"So we decided that we wanted some company, a sweet little angel. So we went to the doctor and said we want a baby. "
Lie #2: Oh, we wanted a child, but the arguments over who was going to carry it were vicious. Ken told me "I'm too pretty to get pregnant." I shot back "So I'm supposed to get huge instead?" After several debates that put Lincoln & Douglass to shame, as well as 5 games of rock-paper-scissors, he pulled his trump card: "I am not touring with an ever-increasing stomach." He got the silent treatment for some time after that.
"And the doctor hooked us up to a machine, and your mother appeared in my stomach."
Lie#4: Now I couldn't very well tell the child that his mother was the product of 4 HOURS worth of sex with his grandfather all performed with a whole bunch of tubes attached to my neither regions. (Not to mention with the least sexiest doctor on Earth watching over the entire procedure.) I know it's prudish, but I'm sorry. By the way, do not believe these queens who tell you that conception is bliss. I like an orgasm as much as the next guy, but after 4 hours, you're just plum tired and want it over with.
"I had a fun time being pregnant. I almost never wanted it to end."
Lie #5: Ever since men could get pregnant, the courtesy stopped. No one made space for me on the train, or in restaurants. They didn't want to do jack, but just go "awww." And I was only the fourth man in Toronto to get knocked up so there was the curiosity aspect combined with my previous mid-level celebrity. Nowadays, they don't even coo at either women or men. I cry for this world, sometimes.
"But one day, your mother gave me a light tap inside and said she wanted to meet us in person."
Lie #6: That child didn't give any tap. She did a roundhouse! It didn't stop there either, she did the can-can, krumped, and I swear at one point she got her hands on an infant-sized jackhammer. I'm already getting the chills writing about it.
Jake smiled at the end of my fairy tale (no pun intended). I'm now thinking that I sugar-coated things too much. Perhaps that's a good thing. Just the other day I saw some man on television extolling the virtues of the "new masculine mystique," which screams ploy, but Jessica Simpson (who'd of thought she'd be the new Katie Couric?) was ate it all up.
That being said, Ken was getting rather amorous in bed the other day. I leaned over, smiled sweetly, and told him "NEVER AGAIN ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH!"
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