Hardly the moment to bring seahorses into the conversation.

Trish says it’s too crunchy. “Sweetheart,” I say dryly, “I can’t control the amount of peanuts they use.”

She’s developed a bunch of new cries over the last eight months. She uses “poor little rich girl can’t get a new pony” on me. “We’re running late,” I say. “You’re wearing sweats?” She says her black dress makes her stomach stick out and I tell her, no, the child inside of her makes her stomach stick out.

Before the funeral, Trish busts out the “everyone hates me” low moan. She tells me she wishes we were seahorses so I could understand.

***
Title by: mmSeason
Story by: Nick

1 person likes this story.

Undo

Related posts:

1. it’s ok to fly low
2. Destiny
3. The Baby Bear and the Wet Diaper
4. Awesomitron
5. Sawdust and Gasoline