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If you have raised kids (or been one), and gone through the pet syndrome,
including toilet flush burials for dead goldfish, the story below will have
you laughing out loud!
Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell me there was "something
wrong" with one of the two lizards he holds prisoner in his room.
"He's just lying there looking sick," he told me. "I'm serious, Dad. Can
you
help?"
I put my best lizard-healer expression on my face and followed him into his
bedroom. One of the little lizards was indeed lying on his back, looking
stressed. I immediately knew what to do.
"Honey," I called, "come look at the lizard!"
>"Oh, my gosh!" my wife exclaimed. "She's having babies."
>
>
>
>"What?" my son demanded. "But their names are Bert and Ernie, Mom!"
>
I was equally outraged.
"Hey, how can that be? I thought we said we didn't want them to reproduce,"
I said accusingly to my wife.
"Well, what do you want me to do, post a sign in their cage?" she inquired
(I think she actually said this sarcastically!).
"No, but you were supposed to get two boys!" I reminded her, (in my most
loving, calm, sweet voice, while gritting my teeth).
"Yeah, Bert and Ernie!" my son agreed.
"Well, it's just a little hard to tell on some guys, you know," she
informed
me (again with the sarcasm!).
By now the rest of the family had gathered to see what was going on. I
shrugged, deciding to make the best of it.
"Kids, this is going to be a wondrous experience," I announced. "We're
about
to witness the miracle of birth."
"Oh, gross!" they shrieked. "Well, isn't THAT just great? What are we
going
to do with a litter of tiny little lizard babies?" my wife wanted to know.
We peered at the patient. After much struggling, what looked like a tiny
foot would appear briefly, vanishing a scant second later.
"We don't appear to be making much progress," I noted.
"It's breech," my wife whispered, horrified.
"Do something, Dad!" my son urged.
"Okay, okay."
Squeamishly, I reached in and grabbed the foot when it next appeared,
giving
it a gentle tug. It disappeared. I tried several more times with the same
results.
"Should I call 911?" my eldest daughter wanted to know. "Maybe they could
talk us through the trauma." (You see a pattern here with the females in
my
house?)
"Let's get Ernie to the vet," I said grimly.
We drove to the vet with my son holding the cage in his lap.
"Breathe, Ernie, breathe," he urged.
"I don't think lizards do Lamaze," his mother noted to him. (Women can be
so cruel to their own young. I mean what she does to me is one thing, but
this boy is of her womb, for God's sake.)
The vet took Ernie back to the examining room and peered at the little
animal through a magnifying glass.
"What do you think, Doc, a C-section?" I suggested scientifically.
"Oh, very interesting," he murmured. "Mr and Mrs Cameron, may I speak to
you
privately for a moment?"
I gulped, nodding for my son to step outside.
"Is Ernie going to be okay?" my wife asked.
"Oh, perfectly," the vet assured us. "This lizard is not in labor. In fact,
that isn't EVER going to happen.
"Ernie is a boy. You see, Ernie is a young male. And occasionally, as they
come into maturity, like most male species, they um . . . um . .
masturbate. Just the way he did, lying on his back."
He blushed, glancing at my wife. We were silent, absorbing this.
"So, Ernie's just . . . just . . . excited?" my wife offered.
"Exactly," the vet replied, relieved that we understood.
More silence.
Then my vicious, cruel wife started to giggle. And giggle and then even
laugh loudly.
"What's so funny?" I demanded, knowing, but not believing that the woman I
married would commit the upcoming affront to my flawless manliness.
Tears were now running down her face.
"It's just . . . that . . . I'm picturing you pulling on its . . . its . .
.
teeny little . . ."
She gasped for more air to bellow in laughter once more.
"That's enough," I warned.
We thanked the vet and hurriedly bundled the lizard and our son back into
the car. He was glad everything was going to be okay.
"I know Ernie's really thankful for what you did, Dad," he told me.
"Oh, you have NO idea," my wife agreed, collapsing with laughter.
Two lizards: $140.
One cage: $50.
Trip to the vet: $30.
Memory of your husband pulling on a lizard's winkie: Priceless!
Moral of the story:
Pay attention in biology class - LIZARDS LAY EGGS!
including toilet flush burials for dead goldfish, the story below will have
you laughing out loud!
Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell me there was "something
wrong" with one of the two lizards he holds prisoner in his room.
"He's just lying there looking sick," he told me. "I'm serious, Dad. Can
you
help?"
I put my best lizard-healer expression on my face and followed him into his
bedroom. One of the little lizards was indeed lying on his back, looking
stressed. I immediately knew what to do.
"Honey," I called, "come look at the lizard!"
>"Oh, my gosh!" my wife exclaimed. "She's having babies."
>
>
>
>"What?" my son demanded. "But their names are Bert and Ernie, Mom!"
>
I was equally outraged.
"Hey, how can that be? I thought we said we didn't want them to reproduce,"
I said accusingly to my wife.
"Well, what do you want me to do, post a sign in their cage?" she inquired
(I think she actually said this sarcastically!).
"No, but you were supposed to get two boys!" I reminded her, (in my most
loving, calm, sweet voice, while gritting my teeth).
"Yeah, Bert and Ernie!" my son agreed.
"Well, it's just a little hard to tell on some guys, you know," she
informed
me (again with the sarcasm!).
By now the rest of the family had gathered to see what was going on. I
shrugged, deciding to make the best of it.
"Kids, this is going to be a wondrous experience," I announced. "We're
about
to witness the miracle of birth."
"Oh, gross!" they shrieked. "Well, isn't THAT just great? What are we
going
to do with a litter of tiny little lizard babies?" my wife wanted to know.
We peered at the patient. After much struggling, what looked like a tiny
foot would appear briefly, vanishing a scant second later.
"We don't appear to be making much progress," I noted.
"It's breech," my wife whispered, horrified.
"Do something, Dad!" my son urged.
"Okay, okay."
Squeamishly, I reached in and grabbed the foot when it next appeared,
giving
it a gentle tug. It disappeared. I tried several more times with the same
results.
"Should I call 911?" my eldest daughter wanted to know. "Maybe they could
talk us through the trauma." (You see a pattern here with the females in
my
house?)
"Let's get Ernie to the vet," I said grimly.
We drove to the vet with my son holding the cage in his lap.
"Breathe, Ernie, breathe," he urged.
"I don't think lizards do Lamaze," his mother noted to him. (Women can be
so cruel to their own young. I mean what she does to me is one thing, but
this boy is of her womb, for God's sake.)
The vet took Ernie back to the examining room and peered at the little
animal through a magnifying glass.
"What do you think, Doc, a C-section?" I suggested scientifically.
"Oh, very interesting," he murmured. "Mr and Mrs Cameron, may I speak to
you
privately for a moment?"
I gulped, nodding for my son to step outside.
"Is Ernie going to be okay?" my wife asked.
"Oh, perfectly," the vet assured us. "This lizard is not in labor. In fact,
that isn't EVER going to happen.
"Ernie is a boy. You see, Ernie is a young male. And occasionally, as they
come into maturity, like most male species, they um . . . um . .
masturbate. Just the way he did, lying on his back."
He blushed, glancing at my wife. We were silent, absorbing this.
"So, Ernie's just . . . just . . . excited?" my wife offered.
"Exactly," the vet replied, relieved that we understood.
More silence.
Then my vicious, cruel wife started to giggle. And giggle and then even
laugh loudly.
"What's so funny?" I demanded, knowing, but not believing that the woman I
married would commit the upcoming affront to my flawless manliness.
Tears were now running down her face.
"It's just . . . that . . . I'm picturing you pulling on its . . . its . .
.
teeny little . . ."
She gasped for more air to bellow in laughter once more.
"That's enough," I warned.
We thanked the vet and hurriedly bundled the lizard and our son back into
the car. He was glad everything was going to be okay.
"I know Ernie's really thankful for what you did, Dad," he told me.
"Oh, you have NO idea," my wife agreed, collapsing with laughter.
Two lizards: $140.
One cage: $50.
Trip to the vet: $30.
Memory of your husband pulling on a lizard's winkie: Priceless!
Moral of the story:
Pay attention in biology class - LIZARDS LAY EGGS!
