We're the ones your mother warned your about...No, seriously. We are.

The Contract Agreement....

Who knew that the ticking of a biological clock would drive a man insane? Especially a man I know that is definitely gay, still a child himself, and trying so hard to keep these things from his parent's attention.

I can't even begin to mention how tempted I was to throw open those closet doors of his and force him into light while in my company exclusively, but my self-control held.

But, let me cast out the tail of misadventures of this past week...

Wednesday June 16th
There is nothing like a beautiful summer work-day side-tracked from the office and dumped onto a golf-course. The sun shines down with these delicate whispy clouds offering no shadow, and a soft breeze scoots by to ease the sting of the humid heat. The flags flutter in the distance as you stand at the tee and as any good girl would do, you reflect only positive thoughts about the virtues of playing golf versus staying in the office on such a wonderful day.

My game was sensational. Certainly, we were playing best-ball, but still -- in our foursome I was the most experienced golfer. For those that know me well, shuddering in sympathy is understood. But, I did good! 4+ My putting was solid, my drives lovely and straight... I'm no Tiger Woods, but I was good! More importantly, my group didn't care how we did, we were having fun and that made it all better!

Now, fast forward a few hours and plop yourself onto a patio. Because, after everyone else has crawled onto the beer carts that trawled through the course during the day they then return to the clubhouse to begin their serious drinking, things will now embrace the whacky.

One side-note: Why is drunk driving okay on a golf course? This boggles my mind.

Of course, I didn't bother to drink anything other than water. It's easier to be alert for opportunities if you're sober, and more importantly a hot enough day that I felt no urge to seriously dehydrate myself. Thursday WAS going to be a workday after all. Instead, I basked in the late afternoon sunlight and relaxed. My tee-off time had been for 10:22am, and as a result by 3pm, I had time to kill. Where better than under an umbrella on a patio listening to rampant industry gossip.

It was another hour or so before The Crown Prince and The Wench (also known as my bosses) finished their games and came to join me. I knew immediately that they were good friends of the girl in the beer cart. Yup. Pink cheeks, glassy eyes, oh yes... very happy souls.

The Crown Prince, uncharacteristically, chose to sit beside me. Of course, since normally he hides amongst his sister, mother and father (hey, nepotism and my company go hand-in-hand), this didn't surprise me. The rest of his immediate family weren't around to shield him, so I had to do the terrible duty.

Allow me to sip more from my water bottle, then. It's such an onerous chore to just sit around a table and pretend to listen to him and The Wench chat.

The Wench was working on a Caeser and a glass of chardonnay. The Crown Prince had a beer. I kept to my water, and used the same skills that got me through many an Economics lecture and worked on my tan. (For the health conscious, 30spf waterproof sunscreen with moisturiser was used.)

Things are swinging along smoothly, I'm warm and content, the others are chatting and gossiping, dinner is being served in an hour (theoretically) -- there is no computer, no phones and no work. Sweet. My goals are simple: get fed, get home, take the dog for a walk.

I'm a simple woman. Really.

"We should have a baby." You know, that sounded a LOT like The Crown Prince, and I wasn't quite sure who he was talking to, so I turned to look. Funny, he's staring straight at me.

"What?" I still have no idea where this came from. Other than the fact his sister is pregnant, Tracy across from us was talking about babies, and The Wench was goading him on... why me? What did I do to deserve this suggestion?

"Think about it, we should have a company name deleted baby."

*blink* "How much have you had to drink?"

"Seriously, your brains, my charisma... he'd be perfect. Let's do it."

"She. And I'm doing nothing. Nothing. Especially not 'it'." I do apologize to my ID and my EGO. I'm sure they went screaming into insanity when THAT little retort plopped out completely unsupervised.

"He, she... either. Maybe both. And come on, it'd be perfect."
(I goggled. Perfect for WHO?)

"It's a great employment guarantee, and a retirement package. We could convert the spare office into a nursery, our kid and Rache's could play together -- Dad would be ecstatic. Whattaya think?"

When all is said and done about me, I'm still mercenary. I mean, lets think about this, as scary as it is to think of, I wouldn't mind being a mother. I have to teach someone to take over the rule of terror when I move to conquer Hell.

And I did want my child(ren)to go to private schools. That requires money. "Let me see the contract. Have your lawyer call mine, we'll negotiate."


It should have ended there. No seriously, it should have...

We're walking into dinner. "You could have the baby in Scotland." He's staring at a lovely framed print on the wall of St. Andrews golf-course.

"Sure. Right there. On the bridge." I said, pointing to a bridge shown on the picture. It's old, rustic, filthy and probably the least hygenic place on the planet that a woman would want to give birth to anything on.

He gave me the ODDEST look. "If you want to, okay."

At which point The Wench waved her hands and asked, "Okay, I've got to know. Are you like talking FOR REAL or TURKEY BASTER."

In retrospect, I can answer this one firmly, but since at the time I thought everyone was still joking, I didn't get the reference. I wasn't even thinking beyond "ha, ha, funny". And, since that was made abundantly clear, the duo-from-hell kindly dropped the entire line.

But, for those wondering -- TURKEY BASTER! That's a gay-wick that ain't going anywhere near my nice hetero-sexual body. Hell, I'm a little concerned given recent statistics about gay-males having unprotected sex being up 25%... maybe I should insist on an HIV test first?

DEAR GODS... what am I thinking?

::boggle!:: Insert more ::boggle!::