Stepping Up to the Plate

I look at my life, my accomplishments, my compassion for insects, my lack of any major criminal record, my ability to sing song lyrics from the 80s even under the blessedly sweet influence of tequila and secondhand smoke, and I ask myself,

Why haven’t any of my infertile couple-friends asked me to be a donor?

I’ve already talked about this with my wife and let her know that I would be completely okay with my little halflings being raised in other households. She, of course, stands against the very notion, even to the point of disgust (both with the idea and my persistence).

But it’s not like I’m not donating every night anyway. And it’s not like she’s not already disgusted, both by the idea, and my persistence.

Look, I’m not perfect, by any means. I can be pretty annoying, what with my preternatural ability to make light of even the worst situation, my tendency to keep the jokes coming even whilst thine belly aches from thine pain (of laughter) and my viagra like resistence to the tiring properties of tequila. Will you please pass out already! Or something along the lines of that particular epithet has been cast in my direction on more than one occasion.

But I’m wicked good at crosswords, so it kind of evens out.

So please, just think about it. Remember, too, that I’m an EMT (license expired in February 2005), so if you should ever find yourself in a fifth-wheel trailer squatting on state park land and contractions begin, I can be of doubly service.

Afterwards, I’d even offer to prime the pump, as it were.

This post brought to you by Tekilla.