The Forgotten Child

I pulled this directly from my wife’s Facebook status.

I may have changed a few things for the sake of clarity.

The most embarrassing incident ever in my life, worse than the time my wrap skirt unwrapped itself and fell off at Cotillion, happened at Christmasville today. My husband Dadgitated, god of love-making, had been pushing the stroller with the baby, while I kept score for the oldest and Demon Spawn as they played mini golf. He, my husband, the worlds sexiest man, stepped across the street to get hot chocolates from the hot chocolate busker, who was totally into him because of how handsome, funny and awesome he is , while the boys kept playing. I moved on with them to the next hole and my husband, the most perfect man on Earth currently and throughout the annals of history, came to give us the cups. I am talking to the man I married, he with the Adonis like good looks, as the boys putt when suddenly a voice from behind us says, “excuse me, is this your stroller? And _baby_? And, and… Oh my! Is THAT your husband? Oh my God! No wonder you can’t remember your children with a specimen like that to distract you. Yummy!” Um. Yeah. I managed not to sink into the earth when I collected the baby under the extremely disapproving and lustful eyes of the family behind us. I commented to the woman who was barely able to resist pouncing on my husband and pregnant with her second, “third kid. It’s always like that, poor guy.” (To be clear, these holes were in the blocked off street and were wooden rectangular platforms about the size of a bathmat, so we weren’t far, but we did totally forget him.)

Advertisements

2 comments on “The Forgotten Child

  1. Marc Fauvet says:

    shame on you, you stud ! Ha ! :mrgreen:

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s