Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Displaced persons and how Pottery Barn and Google are hurting my feelings

Listen, little boy, consider this a stern talking-to:

Don't you know anything about birth order? You're the baby of the family. You're supposed to want to be cute and obliging. You strive to endear yourself to everyone, to milk your smallness for all it's worth. I already have two children who are independent-minded and unobliging. You decided to be a boy; that was to us a declaration that you're going to be different. We're holding you to that.

There was a plan. We had a plan. We had a medically-based, sound, believable with proven track record kind of plan. And based on that plan you were supposed to be born on Monday or Tuesday. Medicine and science gave us the confidence to believe you'd be here by now. Did you think that because your namesake is a coward, you get to duck back in for six more weeks, too? That is not how this works. Your lease has a firm expiration date, and I will have you removed by force if necessary. Tick tock.

You didn't come on Tuesday, but this catalog did:

Do you think I'll succumb to the pressures of Big Consumerism? Don't challenge me, son. If you're going for stubborn, you should know I'm the Queen of Stubborn.

Found on the curb: mattress, clothing, some personal items. Umbilical cord and vernix clumps. Big EVICTION sign on the door.

And then this morning I got this email:

Do you think you're funny, Google? I don't hear anybody laughing.

There's something you should know, little man. I'll win this standoff. I always win. Pin It


6512 and growing said...

He must be finishing some very important business - the last millimeter of eyelash growth, or maybe an extra 24 hours of gorgeous lung development; never underestimate a boy at work.

cndymkr / jean said...

Make plans to do something fun or important this week. I can almost gaurentee that he'll show up then. And get use to him being late. Boys seem to run on their own time schedule.