miercuri, 18 iulie 2012

Desperate measures for desperate people

When Paula said that she's actually going to do this, I said, No way. But then she said, Common dear, what happened with yes-you-can? She was actually going to steal the baby. No way, right? But then she did.

So one night she's in front of the house. With the baby. I don't need to see the baby, I said. Then don't look at it, Let me inside, you narrow skull! Such language, this Paula. And such a cute baby she had in her arms, too. Peachy is what I call that shade. A real treat for my sore eyes, such a good looking person this baby was. Hungry an powerful like a bull too. Now, I don't mind having the fridge scrapped to bone, that was fine. It's not 2007 anymore, but you wouldn't expect a naive individual to have a grasp on these aspects of living. After eating more than properly, the baby started to talk. That was fine too, though one has to admit that baby talk frequency is not exactly music to the ears. But then, politics? A baby leftist with principles, a leftist baby not afraid to assert and to issue moral statements? Who was this unspeakable character drinking my wine, getting the sweet treats of my wife?

In my defense, you have to understand what's like to live in shared spaces. After a month of Paula and the baby, this insidious couple, I felt like the roof above my own house was too hot and too heavy. This is not what I signed for when I took the mortgage, no way, that's how I felt. The baby would go all around the house pretty much naked, milk-bealching from time to time, quite dreadful. But the baby talk was the worst, the shrill was infernal, let me tell you. A goddamn vicious piece of a baby, always coming up with the right answer, quoting from books, an expert in all that online staff I know nothing about, that aggressive politeness, naming the elephant in the room, viciously pounding for truth. Basically a little shit. And I'm not a territorial person, I'm sociable. But all I wanted was one night with Paula, just us, Paula and I alone.

The solution came by email. I had written to this online help service, Desperate measures for desperate people, explaining my problem (I love my wife, against all odds and circumstances, I had written under P.S.) and got a quick reply. You've got to kill the baby, this is what they said. The law was with me on this one. Baby trespassing to the person and to private property, they said. Now, I've made my research, I read the terms of agreement, they take full responsibility for all advices they give to people; plus, first-timers are entitled to a surprising discount. Ten percent off is already a good offer.

For practical purposes, how does one kill a baby when one has the license to do it? There are many mind boggling possibilities. In terms of evident complications, this baby was seriously big, huge is the word I should use to better describe it, a hulky piece of soft meat, a 150 kilos toddler on steroids. Whatever can be imagined is probably an understatement. I had to think hard, be inventive, connect the dots from my house to the shop to buy all the things needed. The guy at the counter made a strange face. The heavy artillery, the deadly virus, the frying pan, the scrapping knife; he watched all this paraphernalia with a really weird wobbly eye. It was necessary to shoot him in the knuckles with poison. My first victim, go to your shepherd. Of course, this didn't solve the baby situation, but it gave me practical experience, not to mention hope in what's good and what's right for me. I wanted Paula more than ever, and what could I do after all, she was my wife and she was my best friend, also the sister I never had, and a good replacement for my mother. She was everything to me.

I went back home. From behind the closed door, I could hear the hairless gorilla moving places. The air was heavy with baby pheromones. Upon entering, it offered to help with the groceries. I said fine, I will let it handle the vegetables while I'm sneaking from behind with the Monsanto thrower. The baby bent down to pick up the paper bags, I said out-loud Time Is Now just to pick up the right attitude and engaged fearfully and full frontal. But then the baby moved suddenly to the right and I got caught with my back exposed. The baby didn't get nervous though, he imagined I was up to something funny, like doing a face and not being very good at it. The innocence was flabbergasting. Then the little puck said, I love that song, The old days of Moloko, Good times, Give me five, old man, this the baby said with a jolly face, hungry for some good conversation. This got me furious and the inevitable happened...

I will not make you read the gore details. I'm not looking for cheap thrills. Need I mention, Paula was not truly happy about the baby not showing up for supper. I encouraged her to process emotionally the whole affair but she was keen on not moving on. Her shrills were even worse than the baby's. The situation was pretty ugly, worked-up Paula wasn't a charm either. Initially I had been licensed to kill just the baby, I do realize that, but nevertheless I'm at ease with how the whole story ended. To pretend nothing happened is the most natural thing to do in these situations, I guess it is a self-defense mechanism, something to do with the survival instinct that is deep buried in us all.


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