My name is Dean Martin. Not ‘the’ Dean Martin. Just a random guy who has the name but not the voice.
I don’t want anything. And I think that’s my trick to happiness.
I trained myself to believe and live by that maxim when I was just out of college and landed a good job that was promising a long and successful career. And my girlfriend Peggy Sue and I were planning to join each other in marriage that was also promising to be long and successful just like the one my parents had. It sounded like a good life to me and I was ready. I was young but mature enough to be ready. The night before our wedding, my best friend Harry threw me a moderately wild bachelor party which I ditched around midnight to go see my future bride. I was tipsy and was hoping to get a little action from her. When I got to her place, she was fucking her neighbor Frank who got so scared when he saw me that he stood straight in front of me, naked, quiet and petrified, for about ten seconds before he crashed to the wooden floor and died of a heart attack. To this day, all I remember about him is how he stood naked before me and even though I looked, I couldn’t see the tiniest bit of his male instrument – that’s how fat Frank was. That’s to say to people that no matter what your shape or size, there is somebody who will like it. I never got married to Peggy Sue. We broke up that night and she quickly moved on with some guy called Buddy. And I wasn’t mature as I thought I was – I was only foolish. And for a long time I partially blamed myself for Frank’s demise. If only I had not walked in on them. If Peggy Sue had not been my fiancee. He wouldn’t get scared. And the irony is – I am not some big scary guy. So maybe Frank was a decent chap who died of shame when I appeared. Or maybe he was too big of a coward. But then brave enough to make a naked move on my girl. People puzzle me. And by ‘male instrument’ I meant dick.
There is a very handsome teller at my local bank. I was analyzing his good looks while I was waiting in line this morning and then I thought about a sperm bank that had premises nearby. Maybe I should open a checking account there.
Today was Vincent’s birthday and we gathered in the conference room to sing him Happy Birthday and have a slice of cake. The cake was good and we had just started savoring it when Sabrina announced that her water broke and that Marie-Antoinette was coming. So much for letting us eat cake.
Sabrina’s baby girl is gorgeous. I passed by the sperm bank again on my way back home. It was not on purpose but to avoid heavy traffic. Still, it was the third time today. Is this a sign? Do all roads lead to the sperm bank?
Vincent’s birthday cake gave me heartburn. I felt better after I threw up. I pledge never to eat cheap cakes again. I was about to doze off when Dahlia called to say that Penny was in labor. Labor Day is on Monday. Is everybody ahead of schedule?! On my way to the hospital I drove by the sperm bank for the fourth time today. I think I saw a little spermatozoid in the window waving at me.
Penny yelled like possessed. This is her third child. Shouldn’t her lady tunnel be wide enough by now not to instigate verbal abuse and screams of bloodcurdling frequencies? My rhetorical question was overheard by a passing by doctor who gave me a disgusted look. I told him that this was my second delivery today and I was I bit tired from all the audio commotion. He thought I was a gyno. I said I was merely a vagina owner and was flattered that he took me for a doctor. He said ‘Oh’ and left. Some weird folks around here. Penny’s son is a little cutie. Mother suggested his name be Oak but Penny rejected the idea and said that her son is going to have a normal name like Elvis or Hendrix or Otto. I guess ‘normal’ has a very wide scope.
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Penny’s yelling made me rethink my baby longings and I decided not to drive by the sperm bank anymore but take the road by the shopping district. The road more taken. The heartburn is almost gone but I can still taste the cheap supermarket cake.