Whoa, Baby

Good evening and holy crap.

Thanks to the awesome power of social networking, I just inadvertently stumbled across a picture of a guy I once hooked up with holding his... baby.

That's right…baby. And I'm not talking about his shawty with a fo'ty. I mean an actual pig in a blanket, where pig means baby and blanket stays the same.

Naturally, my first instinct when confronted with this strange and incomprehensible scene was to rationalize the elements before me into some quaint semblance of sanity. Hmm... let's see here. There's some wood paneling in the background. I see an infant... in a blanket... gazed adoringly upon by a scruffy looking man with a beard and longish hair (fabulous taste in men, I know). Could this not be a scene from a Nativity pageant? I flipped frantically through the next few pictures in search of a donkey -- no luck. All I found was I a trio of other dudes who were definitely not the three wise men, forcing me to conclude that my would-be Lord and Savior was actually begotten by he-whom-i-once-knew. (We are, after all, speaking biblically).

(Not to be confused with he-who-must-not-be-named in the Harry Potter sense. Although that would make for some HOT fanfiction.)

I don't even know how to begin describing the feeling of seeing an ex-lover, however insignificant, holding their infant child. Some things come close—that time in ninth grade when you ran into two of your high school teachers on a date at the movie theater matches it for sheer weirdness. Not to mention that same overwhelming desire to stare at something simultaneously revolting and irresistible, like an all-you-can-eat buffet full of Indian food. Just looking at it makes your butt clench, but you still can’t turn away.

Before we proceed any further, I feel it's necessary to establish that the individual in question--let's call him Joseph--was someone I knew very briefly (biblically and otherwise). He's the blank finger left pointing when I total up the romantic encounters in my life and find I forgot one. I haven’t the foggiest idea what he does now or did then... although I do remember a few key things that he didn’t do in the weekend we spent together, such as eating meat, wearing underwear, or showering. (fabulous taste in men, I know). But basic hygiene aside, this is someone I harbor no ill will towards because I harbor no will toward him at all.

That said, goddamn the smelly bastard for reproducing. Not because I even remotely care, but because I was just starting to wade reluctantly into the swamp of adulthood and come to terms with the fact that two of my close childhood friends are about to get married, when this jerkoff ups the ante.“I see your life-long commitment… and I raise you one tiny screaming person." Time to go home everyone, the keg of irresponsibility is kicked.

The point here, if there is one, which is doubtful, i love commas, is that if it hasn’t happened to you all ready, it probably will. Someday, you’ll be innocently clicking through the photo album of some mutual acquaintance and then WHAM! You’ll fall out of your chair because George Michael and that other guy will have reunited the "Manliest Pop Band of All Time.” The one person that got that will think its really funny. No, you’ll fall out of your chair because there before you will be a photo of someone you once “knew” standing there holding his tiny, pink… baby. Not a bong, or bottle of Jack Daniels, or a golden freaking marmoset, but an actual child--another life sprung from a life you'd forgotten. And when that happens, I promise you... you will look for the donkey.