chez casa del nice guy
i am not a little surprised and disappointed that mrs nice guy has not had any supremely bizarre cravings lo these nine months. i would truly love to report that my wife comes home and stuffs her face with haggis sundaes or veal smoothies. but no.
lately she has evinced one peculiar craving, however, which is awesome. now, i am not one to denounce this craving out of hand as odd -- lord knows it is an itch i myself have many, many times scratched this very morning. but i'm not sure this magical craving is well-suited for my bulbous bride: the magical craving, that is, for beer. my pregnant wife, not much of a drinker in real life, desperately craves beer.
scene: the nice guy kitchen. mr nice guy has recently whipped up a delightful batch of piquant black-bean burritos, adorned with homemade guacamole and paint-peelingly spicy pico de gallo. he is about to set the table when mrs nice guy strolls into the room.
mrs nice guy: what's that you say?
mr nice guy: i didn't say anything.
mrs nice guy: you say you want a beer? here let me get it out of the fridge for you.
mr nice guy: actually i wasn't planning on having a beer just now.
mrs nice guy: what's that? you want me to open it for you?
mr nice guy: um ...
mrs nice guy (popping the top of a deliciously frosty stella artois): here you go.
mr nice guy: thanks, but i really wasn't thirsty.
mrs nice guy: oh, that's too bad. i guess i'll drink it then.
and she takes a nice long pull from the bottle. then, dear gentle readers, she goes into the bathroom and shoots eleven kilos of heroin directly into her uterus. no. actually she lets me finish the beer, because her craving has been cooled. and because she is a beautiful human being.