I should be eating. Such is the power of vanity. I’m starved, but I have to write in this thing instead. Here’s another starving egoist quacking into the void.
Baby shower today. Not for us, for some friends. I’m going but not contributing anything— it might be more meaningful if I could twist balloons into animals or something, but I’m simply contributing my maleness. Maybe that’s enough. It’s certainly enough to make a baby, why wouldn’t it be enough to celebrate one?
I’m generally distrustful of men who go to baby showers unless they’re going to hand out cigars. I don’t have any cigars to hand out. This is poor planning on my part. I fully plan to hand out cigars when my son is born. Not bubblegum cigars. Real cigars, and I’m going to be offended by anyone who doesn’t take one. I’m going to box ship a cigar to friends who live out of state. So Dez, be looking for that. And I want proof you smoked it in good humor. A picture, or something.
It will be like a scene from a 1950s movie. The men will have parted their hair with black combs. We will be dressed in collared shirts and trousers. We’ll use the word “swell” a lot. There will be a dog. A golden retriever named “King.” Someone will throw a stick for King to chase and we’ll laugh with our cigars pointing into the air. The smell of smoke and musk aftershave will hang like a pall above our heads. Any women brave enough to enter our circle will be handed a cigar and a bottle of aftershave.
Seriously though, I’m looking forward to the shower, and I’m going to list reasons, and I’m not going to lie— I look forward to this shower because *baritone radio announcer voice* 1) I am hungry and there will be food 2) there will be many women present 3) I will be the only man, and I will be wearing trousers and musk aftershave. *clever xylophone jingle*
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