I am in the pub and can not help but hear the following conversation.

“Is it a boy or girl?”

“We don’t know, and don’t want to know. It’ll be a surprise. Apparently you get male and female sperm, so I guess it depends on which were the stronger swimmers.”

“Breast feeding?”

“Yeah probably.”

“Excellent. I think it’s best all round to go that way.”

The conversation then began to turn to baby clothes and decorating but I had heard enough.

“Seriously boys, it’s midweek pub night, can we please talk about the football. Please?”

It is hard being a manly man in situations where your many of your peer group are either new fathers, or are about to join those ranks. My interest tends to end with the act required to have a baby (not book a flight Malawi like Madonna, I mean having sexual relations of the penetrative kind).

Do not get me wrong. I will tolerate conversations that veer in the direction of babies and stuff, but not on midweek pub night. That is unacceptable.

I do not interrupt the pillow fights on Girls Night with a critical appraisal of technology for goal line decisions, because that would be very very wrong. I would stay in the shadows and watch from a distance like all normal men.

If baby photos ever get brought in then the whole place is going up in flames, mark my words.

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