I grew a penis. Two in fact. I had two unplanned pregnancies which resulted in me bringing two more males into the world. Me and my sisters are male breeders. Out of 7 offspring, only one is of the XX gene-blessed formation. My mum will quite often tell my niece Rosie that all of her jewellery will be left to her.
The first time I found out I was duffed, I was at my sister Mrs Ryan’s house. I had a strong suspicion I was in the family way, so I drove over 4 suburbs away to buy a pregnancy test and went straight to her house. I peed on the stick and before I could sort myself out with the sorbent, a big happy face flashed up on that piece of plastic.
“Phew…” I thought and yelled out to Mrs Ryan “I am not pregnant. Open the wine!”
Mrs Ryan bought the box in and pointed out to me that the smiley face in fact meant that I was pregnato. She called mum who screamed straight over in excitement. The problem was I was not excited. I was a mess. This was not a part of my plan to become a corporate junkie and rule the world. I was howling.
There was only one person to blame.
I called Mr Woog who was at work. He was working, at the time, with a big brokerage firm who recorded every phone conversation in case any underhanded shenanigans went on that might see someone go to jail for insider trading. I wish I could have a copy of the tape of THAT particular conversation.
After I recovered from the shock and cancelled my 30th Birthday Bash, I went on to grow my penis. And grow it I did. When I look back now on the penises I grew, they are attached to some mighty fine specimens. And now I have shut up shop on the baby making, am I sad face I never got the chance to grow a vagina? No.
So please do not ask me if I am going to “Try for a Girl.” We are closed for business. I blame the GFC.
