Troubles and Treats (Chocolate Lovers #3)

by Tara Sivec

  The doctor had showed up a few minutes later, but when he told Jenny he wasn’t the one with the drugs, I actually feared for the poor guy’s life. Then he had told her he needed to break her water to really get things going.

  What has been happening in here for the last hour? A mother fucking tea party?

  I really wish I could erase this part of the story because I look like a giant douchebag, and if I could take it back, I would. But I guess it’s necessary for you to understand everything.

  The doctor had ripped open a package and pulled out what could only be described as a crochet hook. It was a long stick with a hook on the end, and it instantly made me laugh when I looked at it.

  The doctor went to the end of the bed and asked Jenny to spread her legs. And before you ask, yes, I laughed at this too.

  “Hey, hon, looks like the doctor is going to do some knitting while he’s down there between your legs,” I joked. “I bet you he could make a blanket for ten people with all that long-ass pube hair you got going on.”

  Can you hear that? That’s the sound of my nuts being clamped in a vice.

  After the doctor broke her water, and I apologized profusely for not shaving her ridiculously long pubic hair before she gave birth, it was back to the waiting game. No, not waiting for the baby to be born, waiting for the god dammed drugs.

  “I don’t think we should name him Billy,” Jenny stated in between breaths as she “heeee-ed” and “hoooooo-ed” and “hee-hee hoo-hoo-ed” through the pain.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked her in horror as I paced back and forth over by the door. My nuts still hadn’t recovered from the pubic hair crack so there was no way I was getting within five feet of her right now.

  “Who names their kids after a stupid movie?” she questioned as she took a big sigh of relief when the contraction ended.

  “You must be delirious from the pain. That is the only excuse for the nonsense coming out of your mouth right now.”

  She glared at me and I instantly covered my nuts with my hands. I wouldn’t put it past her to pick up the phone, yank it from the wall, and chuck it at my dong.

  “Did you just call me an idiot?” she questioned softly.

  I really should have just run right then...turned around and darted out of the hospital room and down the hall until I reached the ward with all the comatose patients who wouldn’t scream at me.

  “If it walks like a duck and talks like an idiot, then yes, yes I did,” I told her boldly, putting my hands on my hips.

  Mistake number two.

  Jenny’s cell phone smacked against my junk two seconds later, and I squeaked out a groan and clutched onto the boys.

  “Cheese and crackers! That hurt! Dude, Billy Madison was the first movie we ever watched together. And it is the greatest movie of all time. There is no way we are naming our son anything other than Billy. We already have a Veronica, named after his hot teacher, Miss Veronica Vaughn. We can’t leave our daughter hanging like that. Think of the children,” I pleaded. “Do it for the children.”

  “You don’t love me anymore, do you?” she wailed as tears started running down her cheeks and she put her head in her hands.

  Sweet Jesus what is happening right now?

  I rushed over to her bedside and wrapped my arms around her while she cried.

  “Hon, of course I love you. Calm down,” I told her.

  “YOU FUCKING CALM DOWN! I’M SITTING IN A PUDDLE OF MY OWN UTERUS WATER!” she yelled.

  I tried to hold it in, really I did, but I couldn’t. I dry heaved. It was just…uterus water. Water from her uterus. She was sitting in it. She was marinating in uterus fluids.

  “OH MY GOD! DID YOU JUST GAG?” she yelled.

  I started furiously shaking my head “No”, but the damage was done.

  The anesthesiologist came in then and pushed his cart of drugs in front of him and I almost begged him to give me a hit of whatever he had. I really should be numb from the brain down for the rest of this day before I fucked anything else up.

  The doctor let me stay in the room for the epidural and let me tell you, nothing prepares you for seeing a needle as long as your arm, being pushed into your wife’s spine. And since she was in the middle of a contraction, all she did was sigh when it went in. Until I opened my mouth.

  “Holy fuck that’s a huge needle,” I mumbled.

  Jenny glanced over at me and scowled. Well, as much as she could anyway since she was hunched over her big belly as far as she could go, and a nurse was pushing down on her shoulders.

  “What if he moves a fraction of an inch to the left and you’re suddenly paralyzed?” I asked in horror.

  “Shut...Up,” Jenny muttered.

  After the epidural was firmly in place, I double checked that we had a waiver on file that states we would own the hospital should my wife become paralyzed. If I was going to feed her mashed peas and wipe her ass until we die, I wanted to be rich.

  “You’re never going to want to have sex with me again. I’m going to push a human out of the hole where you stick your penis, and you’re never going to want to go there again,” she sobbed.

  Why God, why? WHY did she have to put that image in my head? I never had a problem having sex with her when she was pregnant with Veronica. Never went through that whole “Oh no, what if I hurt the baby or he sees my penis” bullshit. But this? Oh sweet Jesus, this is the end for me.

  “Oh, that’s just silly. Why would you say something like that?” I asked nervously.

  Maybe because it’s true. A human is making his way down that canal, and I’m supposed to not freak out about this?

  Seven hours later, Billy had come screaming into the world, and I had thrown up in the trashcan next to the bed.

  Somehow, now, I need to convince my wife that I do not fear her vagina. Not anymore at least.

  Chapter 5 – Could it be…SATAN?!

  I’m going to kill him. I swear to God I’m going to murder my husband.

  The week before Billy had been born, he thought it would be a great idea to get a kitten. Something little to take care of to refresh our memories because it had been three years since we last had something that little to take care of. But when he had said we, he really meant me.

  Granted, the kitten, Miss Lippy, named after the weird teacher in Billy Madison, is cute and cuddly and likes to rub her little pink nose against mine when we curl up in bed at night, but she also poops more than the average human. I’ve never seen so much poop come out of something so little and cute. If she'd been an outdoor cat, I might have guessed that she ate a rotten animal or something and got sick, but she never goes outside. She is strictly an indoor cat. I had almost called the vet to ask them if it was normal or if Miss Lippy was dying from some sort of pooping disease. I had the phone in my hand all set to dial when Drew had finally decided to tell me that he pooped in the litter box a few times to see what it was like.

  I've SCOOPED MY HUSBAND’S POOP! Do you have any idea how NOT okay that is?

  And yet, it’s not even the reason why I want to kill him right now, although it should be. So, not only do I have a three-year-old, a four-month-old, a husband, and a kitten, but Drew has come home tonight with a puppy.

  A PUPPY!

  Because you know, why not add one more thing to my list? Really, on top of all the crap I already do, it should be a piece of pie to clean up after yet another person. I’ve already had to potty train Veronica and Drew, might as well try a dog this time. Maybe he’ll be easier.

  Not only did I have to stop Drew from pooping in the kitty litter, shortly after we got married, I had to get him to stop peeing on trees in the front yard. And this was long before we even had kids, let alone had a puppy. He claimed the pee was good for the trees and helped them grow faster. Our neighbors had the most beautiful, tall trees, and Drew always saw their black lab peeing on them, so he assumed their landscaping looked so nice because of the dog. I couldn't count how many times I'd look out one o
f our windows and saw Drew holding his penis with one hand and waving to passing cars with another as he “helped our trees grow.” It got to the point where I had to start keeping an eye on him at all times. When he had started crossing and uncrossing his legs and shifting in his seat, I knew he had to go to the bathroom. I’d have to grab his hand and take him upstairs and stand him in front of the toilet and say, “You pee here! You pee here right now! You are NOT going outside, do you understand me?” It had taken three months before he would head to the stairs instead of the front door to pee.

  Now Drew is fast asleep next to me, and I’ve been tossing and turning for the last two hours, trying to get comfortable in a bed that not only has us in it but now includes Miss Lippy and our Beagle puppy, Rollo the Janitor, too. While the kitten hisses at the puppy and the puppy whines in fear, I lie here silently plotting how to kill Drew and if my friends will help me hide the body.

  “Oh my gosh, stop whining,” Drew mutters sleepily. “Do you have to go out?”

  I lean up on my elbows and try to see Drew in the darkness. I can just make out his form sitting up and feel the bed shift as he flings off the covers and stands up.

  “She just went out,” I tell him softly, assuming he’s referring to Rollo needing to go to the bathroom. I had taken her outside about an hour before, and since she hasn’t crawled all over me and licked my face, I’m assuming that means she doesn’t need to go out again. But Drew is either half asleep or doesn’t care and mumbles something about how it’s his turn to take the dog out. I am not about to argue because if he can bring this thing home without talking to me about it first, he can damn well take it out to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

  I put my head back down on the pillow and snuggle under the blankets, listening to Drew curse under his breath about how cold it is outside and how the dog better make it quick since we had a huge snow storm earlier in the day and there is currently about a foot and a half of snow on our back deck where we let Rollo out to do his business as he picks up the dog and heads out of the room.

  Why do people say that about dogs going to the bathroom? Do his business. How is pooping and peeing like doing business? I do business every day and it involves computers and phone calls and meetings. That’s nothing at all like going to the bathroom. Every time someone says that, I picture a dog walking into the backyard with a doggy briefcase in its hand, wearing a suit and tie. It’s weird.

  Another thing that’s weird? Animals wearing clothes. Did you know there’s a whole website dedicated to just cats wearing sweaters? Do they ”do their business” while wearing sweaters?

  While I pounder these thoughts, I reach over in bed to scratch Miss Lippy’s head before I go to sleep. But it doesn’t feel like Miss Lippy’s head; it’s not as fluffy.

  As I feel around the bed for the rest of Miss Lippy, wondering if maybe I’m nowhere near her head, I hear the back door open downstairs so Drew can let Rollo out. As soon as I hear the door slam shut, I hear a whine in the bed next to me and feel a warm, wet puppy tongue on my chin.

  “Oh no! Oh SHIT!”

  Drew just threw Miss Lippy out into the snow! Poor, little Miss Lippy who has never been outside a day in her life except for the day Drew brought her home!

  I throw the covers off of me, scoop up Rollo, jump out of bed, and run as fast as I can down the stairs. When I get to the last step, I hear the screams and wails of agony.

  Oh thank God! Drew must have realized what he did and now he feels bad. He’s so sweet for getting upset.

  I race through the house and skid to a stop in the doorway of the kitchen.

  Miss Lippy, sopping wet and covered in snow, is attached to the front of Drew’s chest. And when I say attached, I mean it. He hadn't worn a shirt to bed, so all four sets of claws are stuck deep into his skin as Drew screams and tries to pull her off of him.

  “MOTHER SON OF FUCKER SHIT! GET THIS GOD DAMMED CAT OFF OF ME!” he shrieks as he tugs on the cat’s fur and the cat yowls and hisses up at him angrily.

  “Oh my gosh! Drew, you threw Miss Lippy out instead of Rollo!” I tell him as I just stand there cuddling Rollo and watch Drew spin around in circles, slamming into the counter and chair as he wrestles with the cat.

  “GEE? REALLY? I HAD NO IDEA, WHAT WITH THE WET, KILLER CAT STUCK TO MY SKIN!” he screams at me as the cat uses his distraction to her advantage by climbing further up his chest until she can sink her teeth into his chin.

  Drew screeches at the top of his lungs while he continues to try and pry Miss Lippy off of him. She’s growling now and drooling out of the side of her mouth, so I’m guessing she’s not going anywhere for a while.

  “I SAID I WAS SORRY, MISS LIPPY! COME THE FUCK ON, THAT HURTS! I SWEAR I DID NOT MEAN TO THROW YOU IN THE SNOW!”

  Drew and Miss Lippy are carrying on so loudly right now, I’m sure they are going to wake the kids up any minute.

  “Drew, keep it down! You’re going to wake up Billy and Veronica,” I whisper loudly over the crying and hissing.

  “I HAVE A KILLER CAT WITH FANGS TRYING TO EAT MY FACE, JENNY! SHE’S TRYING TO EAT OFF MY FACE!”

  Rollo sighs and huffs in my arms at the commotion and rests her head on my arm to continue watching.

  Drew bends over at the waist and tries to stick his arm up between Miss Lippy’s body and his chest to push her away from him since pulling on her fur is obviously just pissing her off. She takes that opportunity to scramble up his face and onto his head, sinking her claws into his skull.

  I’m sorry, but at this point, I have to laugh. Drew stands up when the cat gets to his head and is now trying to head-bang to get her to fall off, screaming the whole time because it’s just making her dig her claws in even further.

  I sort of feel bad for him when I see the claw marks and blood dripping down the front of his chest, arms, neck, and face. It looks like he got into a fighting match with Freddy Kruger. But then I think about the fact that he's brought home not one, but two new animals at the same time we've had an infant in the house, and it kind of makes me happy that this is going on right now.

  “IS THIS BECAUSE I TOOK A DUMP IN YOUR LITTER BOX? I TOLD YOU I WAS SORRY FOR THAT TOO. GET THE FUCK OFF OF MY HEAD!”

  I walk across the room in an attempt to help Drew get Miss Lippy off of his head, but he’s too busy head-banging and hopping around the room for me to get close to him. Instead, I take a seat at the kitchen table, yawn, and get Rollo comfortable in my lap.

  “YOU’RE A VINDICTIVE LITTLE BITCH, MISS LIPPY! NEXT TIME YOU YACK UP A HAIR BALL IN MY SHOE, I’M GOING STRAIGHT UP GANSTER AND POPPING A CAP IN YOUR ASS!”

  It’s almost like Miss Lippy understands what Drew is threatening. As soon as Drew takes a break and rests against the counter, Miss Lippy rears up on her back legs and starts smacking Drew on either side of his head with her paws. It’s like something right out of Funniest Home Videos when the little kid is teasing the cat too much and it smacks the poor little kid in the face. That’s always funny because it’s happening to someone else’s kid. It turns out, this is even funnier.

  I’m too busy laughing to see how he does it, but Drew finally manages to remove Miss Lippy from his head and tosses her to the kitchen floor. She hisses once more at him and then runs away.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t help me. I could have been killed!” Drew complains.

  I roll my eyes at him and stand up. “Oh stop, she wouldn’t have killed you.”

  Holding Rollo to my chest, I turn and walk out of the room.

  “You have no idea what that monster is capable of. You didn’t see her eyes. It was like looking into the windows of hell. I actually felt a chill. That cat is Satan. I bet she’s upstairs right now trying to suck the souls out of our kids. Why aren’t you more worried about this?” Drew demands.

  “That cat is a sweetheart. You threw her into a pile of snow. What did you expect her to do?” I ask as I make my way up the stairs and Drew trails behind me, shushing me as we go.
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  “We need to stop talking about her. She’s probably listening and plotting our deaths. I bet she knows thirty-five ways to kill us and make it look like an accident. They’ll find our bloody corpses, and she’ll just be sitting there, looking up at them with those big, cute Puss and Boots eyes but no one will think she’s coming to do the Devil's bidding,” Drew whispers as we walk into our room.

  He turns and looks both ways down the hallway and then quickly runs away from the doorway, over to the closet. I watch as he rifles through the closet until finally pulling out what he's looking for - a baseball bat. He lifts it up on his shoulder and puffs out his chest.

  “You do realize Miss Lippy doesn’t weigh more than six pounds, and you’re ready to fight her with a metal baseball bat, right?” I ask him as I climb into bed and get Rollo situated next to me.

  “Cold, dead eyes, Jenny! How many times do I have to tell you? It’s like you’re not even afraid of Satan! He wants to eat your soul!” he whispers loudly, creeping around the room and glancing nervously behind the nightstands and under the bed.

  “She’s just a little kitty, Drew.” I sigh as he makes his way into the bathroom.

  I hear the water running in the sink followed by cursing as he cleans off his scratches. He comes back into the room a few minutes later with the bat clutched tightly to his chest.

  “That little kitty tried to gut me like a fish tonight. Do you want me to go downstairs and get you a weapon? I would totally do that for you. I would brave the wrath of the human-slayer to make sure you could sleep safely tonight,” he tells me seriously.

  “I could probably make it to the first drawer on the left in the kitchen and get you a steak knife if I can bug out early and stay under cover until I make it back to the barracks without risk of another attack,” he whispers to himself.

  When he starts talking like his father, I know he’s lost his mind.

  “Drew, cut it out! I don’t need a weapon and you’re not going to a freaking war. Good grief! You’re not really going to sleep with the baseball bat, are you?” I ask him as he climbs under the covers, still hugging the bat.