Dirty Diaper Condemnation

Confirmed bachelors make stories hilarious. That’s a universal truth. Like the idea that humans need oxygen to live, except much, much funnier. And funnier still when the story involves a confirmed bachelor, a woman, and an unplanned pregnancy. Regardless of confirmed bachelor’s, woman’s, or baby’s sexual orientation, humor is inevitable. A laughter-induced asthma attack is even possible – or probable, if the confirmed bachelor is a pathological philanderer who fears commitment more than he fears death or syphilis. In the latter case, Humor embraces Irony and the two go off to dinner with Retribution. Puréed yams are served.

Excuse me while I chuckle. And by chuckle, I mean pee myself and laugh so hard that I forget what laugh lines and comedic tears are.

While I wipe, let me also add that I’m no stranger to life’s taste for the absurd and its teddy bear adoration for surprise. However, some situations are exempt from random circumstance consideration. Promiscuous man unknowingly impregnates a want-child-before-my-ovaries-shrivel woman? Case in point.

What makes this delectable human dramedy all the more sweet is that a) I added two tablespoons of Hawaiian white honey and b) the never official couple unofficially broke-up because the woman wanted kids and the man didn’t. Thinking he’d escaped just in time, a phone call six weeks later proved him wrong. How wrong? Creationism meets Reaganomics meets fat people in spandex wrong.

Not sweet enough for you? Did that fat people in spandex image ruin it? If so, then try this on for size. And by this, I mean the ultimate prefix to any impending fatherhood announcement: “I’ve made some big mistakes in my life. Some really, really big mistakes...”

Hahahaha. Yes, dear readers, that is how confirmed bachelor introduced his audience to his unborn child. And the announcement came at just the right time - “seven to ten days” before the little bugger was expected to make the journey from uterus to incubator. Perfect, because you wouldn’t want to tell people any sooner. Better to keep these things to yourself for eight and a half months. You know, in case there’s an accident. Or an “accident.” Why get people’s hopes up?

Either from eye-rolling boredom or genuine intrigue, you may find yourself wondering whether this story can get any better. Well, it can and it does, because while other stories can’t improve, this one can’t stop improving. You couldn't stop this comedic nightmare if you tried. You couldn’t stop it if you shoved it into a body bag, beat it senseless with a brick of RU-486, and shipped it to Chernobyl.

How does the story get better? I’m glad you asked.

First there were the obligatory “she planned it” accusations. Sounds like one sharp lady, for what better way to rekindle a month-long relationship that never was? Why, yes, of course! You lure him back with an unplanned, unwanted pregnancy!

Quickly outgrowing its 70% entertaining 30% itchy wool britches, this travesty turned fantastic when the bachelor lamented that if he could “get on a time machine and go back ten months, [he] would.” Ignoring the fact that time machines are like vehicles, in that you get in them, not on them --- this line is a clincher of epic proportions. This man is unapologetically suck-a-lemon bitter about the turn his life has taken, yet he holds onto a glimmer of hope that some supernatural force can still save him from long term entanglement. Impressive. I guess that’s what happens when optimism and desperation converge. It’s called denial and it’s hilarious.

Never before had I looked at parenthood as a device of retribution. I never considered it an institution capable of delivering poetic justice, much less karmic repercussion. Sure, there were lots of “Just wait until you have kids!” threats growing up, but no one ever takes those seriously. After all, they were just the miserable ramblings of a resentful mother. And with Jesus, David, and Muhammad as your witnesses, you’d never turn out like her. Never! [Feel free to insert a teenager screaming “I hate you, Mom!”]

So wrapping up, what have we learned? For one, we’ve learned that miserable people can give birth. We’ve also learned that desperation isn’t all bad – in rare cases, it can lead to increased creativity. And we’ve learned that parenthood does not mix well with commitment-phobia and that RU-486 does not mix well with healthy pregnancy.

But most importantly, I finally learned what “life’s a bitch” means. It means woman’s power is so great, it actually defines existence. Heavy. And if logical deduction is any guide, true too.