“It’s totally fine,” I explained to Liz as she paced back and forth behind the couch. “She’s totally housebroken. She’ll go to the door and spit on it when she needs to go out.”

“She’s calling our house. What ten-year-old girl needs to call a boy’s house? A slutty ten-year-old girl, that’s who. She’s got her sights on our son, and before we know it, she’s going to be giving him blow jobs on the back of the bus and forcing him to watch porn with her. This is our BABY, Carter!”

“Are you really going back there with me?" I ask."Hell yes I am. Your wish is finally coming true. I will see your vagina. Plus, I really want to see the look on that woman's face when she gets a peek at your plethora of pubes. Your copious curls, your abundant bush, the wild mane that if it sees a spark will start a forest fire," she states."Are you finished?" I ask irritably."I think so. But give me five minutes and I might be able to get one more in.”

“He was so pretty I wanted to frame him and put him on my nightstand in a totally non-creepy, non-Hannibal Lector skin-suit-wearing kind of way.”

“Why the fuck didn't anyone tell me that four-year-olds get woodys? I am not equipped to deal with this shit, Liz.”

“Because I'm pretty sure we conceived this child the night I ate that pot cookie. I'm eighty-four percent positive our child is going to be born a pot head. It's going to come out with dreadlocks and wearing a Bob Marley onesie. Its first word will probably be 'Whaaaaaazzzzzzzuuuuuup'. It's never, ever going to sleep through the night because it's always going to have the munchies.”

“I was going to have to tell people I got fired from selling dildos. I can't even sell fake cocks to a room full or horny women. How do you come back from that shit?”