You know when you’re in a large group of people listening to — let’s say — a presentation, and some wise ass in the back of the room cracks a joke? And then the poor guy giving the presentation shakes his head and says, “Hey, looks like we got a comedian here.”
Well, I have my own version of that now.
It’s called, “Hey, looks like we got an ultrasound technician here.”
Everywhere we go, people want to tell us the sex of our unborn child. I’m not talking about friends and family. I’m talking about random people. Like the crazy lady at Bath & Bodyworks (boy), and the crazy lady who pulled up next to us in her Mercedes (boy), and the crazy lady not wearing any shoes outside of the Beverly Center (boy).
By the way, notice a pattern there?
That’s right, I like talking to crazy people. And I like unsolved mysteries. And I like spending an incredible amount of time agonizing over something that can be determined both easily and definitively.
So here, my lurking ultrasound technicians, is a picture of my wife at 28 weeks:
What does that look like to you? Is she carrying high? Or low? Is she carrying wide? Or out in front? Are we having a boy? Or a girl?
Go ahead and be the wise ass in the back of the room.
I’m encouraging you.