At the Gay Little Cafe this morning there were not one, not two, but three mummies. What's the group noun in these situations? A collectivity of nurturers? A lactating mob?
I was, as you can imagine, intimidated. Usual signs: heart racing, scared, concerned, finding it hard to breathe, feeling as if I was just about to be run over in the street by oestrogen.
Or maybe that was just the coffee?
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Tim, your links stink, you fink!
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9 comments:
CHEESECHEESECHEESECHEESE
Well that Bega's the question.
O.M.G. Not women! With babies! Drinking coffee! You poor thing.
Yes, I camembert it.
Okay enough cheese jokes...
Be careful you don't get pregnant, Tim. I find that excessive exposure to the recently bred does terrible things to the hormones whether one wants it to or not.
Wow. Sympathetic hormone changes. That's quite fascinating. Maybe it's too late for me though?
I dunno, are you post-menopausal?
Who knows? Strangely I entertained the possibility of a Tim-pregnancy in a poem at the Dan just the other week. Maybe though I should just work on my beer baby.
I find that food and beer babies really require no work at all.
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