As I become more and more demanding and hormonal, I have an increasingly overwhelming desire to blame my disposition on the baby growing inside me. The ever so common "the devil made me do it" blame-game has morphed into "It wasn't me, it was Cletus-the-fetus", or "Pat wanted it". Because in truth, it is Pat (my currently androgynous, unborn child) who is dictating my every move. If I crave cottage cheese, snap at you without cause, or hog all the blankets and pillows, you can bet your ass Pat is behind it. So stay out of the way, and you can be sure that no harm shall come to you. Eat the last of my Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream, and it's open season, bitches.
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