I give up

Subtitle: When cake makes you fertile

I have exactly 45 things to accomplish by day’s end tomorrow to get the newspaper out on time, and I don’t see it happening.

Not to mention, but to put it mildly, everyone except Finance Guy in that place is useless. He did me a really huge favor yesterday, and he restored my faith in humanity. Unfortunately, that was tempered by the cruise director and the queen of the underworld givin’ me shit today.

In good news, my ad rep is knocked up. It’s totally my fault, according to the tale she tells. (!) See, back in February ’round Mardi Gras time, the fabulous Tricia sent me a lovely King Cake, and according to tradition, the person who gets the piece of cake with the little plastic baby in it is King for a Day and that person buys the cake next year. When my ad rep got the baby, she was scared that it meant that the person who gets the baby gets knocked up, and we laughed about that. When she went home and showed the baby to her daughter, the little girl said, “Does that mean you’re having a baby?” So she called me and we laughed and laughed. Turns out she was maybe a week or two along at that point, and she announced the news to me today, completely holding me responsible for the phenomenon.

I, of course, decided that when we have cake next year, we will scan the delicacy to ensure that the plastic baby goes to the only man on staff, because I do NOT want to start a tradition of the person who gets the baby, HAS the baby!

I’m happy for her, though, because she thought she couldn’t physically have another child. Well, that cake must’ve been magic, and I wish a happy and healthy pregnancy to my buddy!

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