A Womb with a View

It's supposed to be a joke, but as with most jokes, it's the painful reality of the situation that makes us laugh.

Yesterday, we went in for our ultrasound. If you want to know the result without trying to read through all the lame jokes, well, too damn bad. I've hidden the answer as an acrostic somewhere within the text of my writing, using a random numbering code based on a Ceaser cipher. So ha!

Lil's orders were simple: drink 32 ounces of water about an hour before her scheduled appointment and then don't go to the bathroom.

Sounds simple enough . . . if you've never been a pregnant woman or a small child. Constant vigilance for bathrooms, akin to marines looking for snipers, is the only correlation. Thus it was that my wife turned to me while we're waiting and said:

"This is sheer torture."

Thinking she was referencing being pregnant, I offered my, "Well, it's only until September."

It was at this point I was very grateful that we were only 100 yards from the emergency room. I woke up missing several teeth and unable to see through either eye.

"Cut me, Mick" I groaned at Burgess Meredith.

Apparently, my wife wasn't bemoaning her pregnant state, but rather the forced forstalling of her bathroom break. You see, keeping clear fluid in the bladded allows a window into the womb. This gives you a clear-er view of the child inside, and let's you know that you're having a boy, or a girl.

Ha!

Now you know how the audiences at Patriot Games felt. I'll never forgive Phillip Noyce for that peice of editing. That and Blind Freedom, although Rutger Hauer always rocks!