From the It-Was-Bound-To-Happen-Sooner-Or-Later File:
February 17, 2006
(Y'all! Thank you so much for all the awesome diaper tote suggestions. I want about ten of them. At least. Oh wait, did I see that one before? Shit. Now I want eleven. And because together we've pretty much covered the Entire Universe of Cool Diaper Bags for the Non-Frumpy Mama, I'm going to pool all the suggestions and create a shopping guide. Because I have ALWAYS wanted to create a shopping guide of some sort, but have been too lazy to actually research it my damn self. So...thank you for doing all the work. Suckers.)
Last night we went out for dinner (u could save that $ and stay home! wh0RE!). Noah fell asleep during the car ride to the restaurant (if u loved Noah u would sell that car t00 and walk everywhere!), and Jason dropped me off while he went to find parking.
I went in, got our table and happily settled in with the wine list (OMFG!) and waited for Jason and Noah to join me.
Minutes later, Jason arrived. I waved and he casually strolled over and sat down.
I stared at him for a few seconds. I took a deep breath. I focused on keeping my cool. Also on keeping my eyeballs from exploding.
"Jason," I said, in a calm, low voice. "Where. Is. The. Baby?"
His eyes got very wide, and without a word, he jumped up and bolted back out the door.
When he returned, sleeping babe in tow, the table next to us applauded.
"DUDE." said our slightly horrified waitress. "DUDE."
DUDE is right, because I now have something to hold over Jason's head FOR THE REST OF HIS LIFE, and I couldn't be happier about that, since maybe now he'll stop asking if Noah looks a little cross-eyed because I sort of let him fall off the couch that one time.
I am properly gobsmacked at your duncity and recklessness, dude.