I never know how to cope with babies. More specifically, the showing of them to me, by friends. You know the thing…

“Oh! Look at my baby pictures!” they coo, shoving a phone under my face, depicting a pink ball with a face. 

“Isn’t he/she cute?” they say, this rhetoric burning in my ears like acid. I have to reply through tight lips “Er. Yeah.”. This non-excitable response invariably creates tensions, as I simpy don’t have it in me to be awed by a screaming human the size and shape of a King Edward.

They certainly don’t like these responses.

“Looks like Phil Mitchell.”

“Looksl ike a potato with eyes.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t look EXACTLY like every other baby ever.”

“What was that designed by, fucking GIGER?”

It’s also best not to bring up your favourite birth scenes from films. Especially mine. Prometheus and The Fly. Always awkward.



About neilstilwell

Abseiling into trouble, a sewer rat staring at the stars. Disgusting. You can assist my search for the one ring by buying a Kindle version of this diary from here. It has some other stuff in it, and a dreadful cover.
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