When a visitor recently brought by a baby so new he hadn’t even been spanked, my female co-workers overwhelmed me with their warmth and sensitivity.
Fawning over the miniscule bundle of joy, the women cooed enough “oohs” and “ahs” to sing back-up for Marvin Gaye. Obligingly, I followed suit.
After the baby left, my co-workers surprised me. Anticipating maternal gushing about the precious gift from above, instead they shrugged their shoulders.
The first led off with, “I never know what to say about babies. They’re just not that interesting. Maybe if she brings him back in a year, I’ll be more excited.”
With a solid double putting both in scoring position, the second offered, “Yeah, at that age all they do is dirty diapers and keep you awake.”
With a mighty bases-clearing triple, the third contributed, “I guess he was cute, but so are Pekingese. At least with a dog, you don’t need a babysitter.”
I then tried, but failed, to bring the runner home with the attempted suicide squeeze, “He did look like a shriveled prune.”
Not only am I no longer batting clean-up, but I’m beginning to wonder if the ladies are actually fascinated by my vacation photos.