Context: When your wife is pregnant, as mine recently was, you lose
testosterone so that you don’t beat her*. This may be controversial and I have
no science to back it up but I have mentioned it at barbecues and it seems to
hold up around salad. My testosterone is now bouncing back. But due to Lady
Wife’s unfortunate C Section I’m house bound until she is strong enough to lift
more than a baby. Also, to add
spice, I’ve spent the last 9 months trying to find the perfect segue between
what my wife is talking about and convincing her to touch my penis.
I’m walking up the road on
my way to buy cupcakes and my inner monologue is furious. ‘Cupcakes! Cupcakes! I must be the only inner monologue
bitching about cupcakes. ’ And so it went. Meanwhile Lady Wife was talking about curtains. Not
meanwhile back at home meanwhile, but rather, meanwhile by my side meanwhile.
In context to banter about curtains, this is the worst kind of meanwhile. (Curtains. Curtain rod. Emphasise rod
and then look at your penis. Avoid
eye roll. Repeat.) The cherry: I’m pushing a pram with two kids in it. The kids
are mine, they’re both under two and they’re just screaming ‘Be responsible
dad! It’s embarrassing that you only have £13.25 in your bank account. Stop
thumbing your cock during the day and get out there and bring home a slice of
normal, at least until we get blinds. Step up and be a man dad.’ I love them
but they’re little psychological bandits who know how to push my buttons.
I’m in the boutique cupcake shop, we’re buying some for the neighbours
who helped with Boy Son during the birth of Only Daughter. Just as we balance affordability with
quality, in walks a guy ten years buffer than me, he’s holding a knife and he’s
not happy about a previous cupcake sale. Finally I get a turn to shine. I take
thirty-five years of anger and fear and crush this man with nothing but mind
vibes. Mel Gibson in his hey day couldn’t beat my stare. Even as Riggs in
Lethal weapon 1. My kids love me again, my posture improves, the cupcake lady
dies because my vibes are new and need refining but no one cares because she
died doing what she loved, combusting. As for Lady Wife, she tells me to snap
out of it and open the door as ‘we have the cupcakes now Adam.’ Oh do we? Because from where I’m standing,
we are a long way from cupcakes. ‘That doesn’t even make sense’ I know but this testosterone has got to go
somewhere.’
And that was my week. No happy ending, not even a plot, just a man
plugging along using his imagination to anesthetise the growing pains of
responsibility.
* Not so much her but the infiltrating demon that she never told you
about.
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