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Lucky they liked each other, presumably.   Their mothers didn’t – looked daggers at each other while you said soothing words and picked up your two offspring: a small, unhappy weight dragging on each arm, and you, the central single parent pivot point.   You took sides and pushed them on the swings, and they swang in uneven counter-point, and your face was grimly daddy dutiful as the faithful fairplay fulcrum.   You passed out the meat in the sandwiches as they sat and step-sibling squabbled on the steps, and then played favorites in the ball games as a useful plaything was bounced back and forth between the demanding competitors.

And when the light faded, you primly performed your child support role and carried one complaining one on your hip and one sleeping one on your shoulder back to their respective houses and their resentful moms who closed the doors too quickly in your face before you had time to right the balance of power, or tip the authoritatian scales in your favor.

And for a moment, something else hung in the balance.   See – it’s not wise to pick off the productive progenitors before the young produce have grown to practical eating proportions.   But as that final door was shut and you immediately measured your definite dislike of daddydom and the deadweights of dependents with your face, lightening the load and redistributing the burden of child-rearing – weighed against your impending violent and bloody demise – almost seemed to make things…

Even.

 

EIGHTH SIGN…

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3 Comments

  1. I guess you gave him the easy why out….and people say that you are a monster.

  2. That’s a lot of alliteration.

    • Who says souless predators can’t have a poetic streak…?


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