“You didn’t think I’d notice?” she asked.
I didn’t. I hoped she’d be so consumed with this impending trigger shot that she’d miss me sticking myself as I prepped the hypodermic needle.
“I can see you hemorrhaging from here.”
An exaggeration. My finger was already bandaged. About the only thing that had gone smoothly so far.
I turned towards my wife and found her lying on our bed, her belly exposed.
“Now I’m supposed to trust you, a middle school art teacher, to administer this shot?” she wondered.
I nodded.
“Great, you’ll probably be the one that ends up pregnant…”
The Weekday One Hundred 