I won’t go into whether I rolled Wayne around in my own porridge or not. Some things should remain private between a man and his unhatched pandas eye projectile. And so my story continues.
The incubator was looking great. I’d covered the walls with egg cartons so that Wayne could have his music on as loud as he wanted without it disturbing the neighbours. I’d heard Deb going on about how music was good for developing babies so I’d started him off on some easy listening like Cannibal Corpse and Suffocation before introducing him to the heavier stuff. He also seemed to be soothed by the sound of me playing Call of Duty on the Xbox. The machine gun must be like the sound of a mothers beating heart or something. But try explaining that to Deborah.
She was ill-nittered like never before. I’d be trying to maintain a constant temperature for the little fellow and she’d be like “Martin, can’t you help me build this crib?”, “Martin, I shouldn’t be lifting this car engine in my condition” and “I’m eating for two now you inconsiderate bastard so I’ll eat as many deep fried pizzas as I like”. Anybody would think that she was up the duff or something the way she was carrying on. All I know is that she didn’t seem to give two hoots about Wayne. In fact she was damn right hostile towards him.
There was an incident. I don’t want to start throwing accusations around but the words ‘attempted murder’ spring to mind. She claims otherwise. I woke up one morning to find Wayne missing from his nest. In blind panic I run into the kitchen just in time to see her smashing in the top of a boiled egg, happy as Larry. I near baulked when she dipped her soldiers into it. God there was yolk everywhere. I’ve never been so repulsed and yet mind cravingly hungry at the same time. The good news was that it wasn’t Wayne she was digging into. Bad news was she’d put him in the frickin’ fridge along with the normal shop bought ones! She had the nerve to accuse me of not caring about her and her so called baby. Said I was obsessed with that stupid egg. Said there was nothing special about it and she’d put it in the fridge to prove it. I looked into that fridge helplessly. It was like trying to pick Michael out of the Jackson Five. They all looked the same.
This is where my motherly instinct kicked in. I don’t know how or why, perhaps the lingering odour from my old pants or indeed my own arse, but somehow I was able to differentiate between them by smell. I guess it was a bit like how everybody likes the smell of their own feet but hates everyone else’s. But he wasn’t out of the woods just yet. God knows how long he’d been in that ice box. I had to make sure he was okay. Sticking him into the microwave for a quick warm up did cross my mind but I decided that getting him back into the familiar setting of his incubator was for the best. I had to make sure he was still alive so I held that little egg up to the light and waited for what seemed like an eternity. Then at last. Movement!
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