Dear Baby X,
I saw you when you were just a glint in your father’s fly.
It was mid June, late on a muggy spring night. I was waiting for my bus at the Port Authority. I was bored and, there, across the way, I saw them: your parents. They were young, reckless, and obviously inebriated. I was impressed by their perseverance in remaining upright. In some ways…your father more than your mother…
Your father had your mother pinned against the wall. I never knew that the human tongue could travel that far down another’s esophagus. Perhaps this is a talent you will possess as well. One can only hope.
Your mother was groping at your dad’s khakis, which seemed to get tighter the more they made out. It’s a wonder of science that his pants didn’t split. See what a miracle you were conceived from?
Other people were watching, but trying to look like they weren’t watching. Your parents can sure put on quite a show! They could’ve charged admission.
In approximately nine months (or, if your mom doesn't lay off the booze, perhaps sooner), your parents will meet up again, each with their respective new boos in order to curse witness your entry into the world. Here's hoping that all of your parts are where they should be and that you don't have to ride a short bus for the rest of your life. That last sentence will make more sense to you once you learn about birth defects in school...
So, Baby X, I just wanted to present you with a picture of your moment of conception. Not many people get to see this. If not for your parents' skankiness, I would not be able to give you this precious, precious gift.
Sincerely,
A fellow passenger on the 167
P.S. 157 more to go!
**Illustration (arrow) done by Ryan Haase. Thanks Ryan!
