Immature

Several years ago, round about my (first) junior year of college I had the strangest dream. I dreamt that all the families for whom I baby-sat got together and gave me a child. They presented it to me, faces beaming, saying, “we know how much you love children, and how upset you are that you can’t get pregnant. We decided to give you a baby.”

I remember the feeling of panic, of thinking, “yes, of course this is what I want, but not now. Now is not the time.”Of course, what I said was, “I can’t have a baby now! I get drunk on a regular basis!”

Clearly articulates my position, no?

There seems to be a bit of a baby boom happening. The Clinton D. Kemps, The Devin L. Burgesses and, of course, The Mary-Knight T. B. Youngs (Mr. David B. Young), are all pregnant.

Babies, they’re on my mind.

Last night, I walked home from the gym. At the grocery store I realized I didn’t have my keys with me. Oh, and my roommates weren’t home. So, I did what any normal person does in such a situation:I entered my apt building through the restaurant downstairs.I went to my downstairs neighbor’s apt and climbed out her window and up the fire escape. Yes, that’s right, I climbed into my apt through the fire escape.

I CAN’T HAVE A BABY NOW! I CLIMB UP FIRE ESCAPES INSTEAD OF USING THE FRONT DOOR!