they say objectivity is the first thing to go
an old friend of mrs nice guy's came over the other day, seven-month-old daughter in tow. and fuck it if that weensy angel princess isn't the cutest fucking little rugrat that ever lived. seriously, this baby could be a wee catalogue model, the poster-child for perfection, secretary general of the UN. and mr nice guy is fucking furious.
why the ire? isn't it obvious? there is officially now NO WAY that the nice guys can compete. there is NO WAY the nice guys will have a baby even remotely in the same neighborhood of cuteness as this little fairy sprite. and you know what, it is a competition, motherfucker! it is a zero sum game.
so here's how mr nice guy figures it: his only hope is to have the world's fugliest baby. look. i know parents are crazy. i know newly-minted moms and dads just love their perfect little woogums to pieces and no one on earth can convince them that the fruit of their loins is anything but beautiful. well. i swear to you, dear reader, that if the nice guys give birth to a hideous bugeyed gila monster, they will FULLY ADMIT to having an ugly baby.
portrait of the baby as a young monster
so, i promise, in the event of a gilababy, this exchange will never take place:
nice guys: here's our daughter, isn't she lovely?
friend: hey, WOW! uh. gosh, there she is all right! isn't she, uh, special? and very right there, too!
nice guys: say it! SAY SHE'S BEAUTIFUL!
no. we will frankly and fully admit it if our newly-minted screaming shit-factory looks like it belongs in the spider monkey colony or lizard habitat.
nice guys: here is our little tree sloth. now, shield your eyes as i remove her bonnet.
friend: aw, hewwo, wittle fwiend ... OH MY GOD SHE'S HIDEOUS!
nice guys: we warned you.
friend: MY EYES! THEY'RE BURNING!
mr nice guy is starting to look forward to this bit of parenting.