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It seems there were little parts of our discussions that got lost in translation. You see, I thought our conversation went the way of, “Hey, now that we’ve planned our wedding date eighteen months from now we can sit back and enjoy being engaged for a little while without the stress of starting any wedding planning”. She seemed to take that as, “Let’s start wedding planning now as it’s only eighteen months away and if we don’t get on top of it right this very second, the only place we’ll be able to get married is city hall. Is that what you want Bib? CITY HALL? In front of the people paying their speeding tickets?” And so the wedding planning begins.
Thus, we send out the good news to pretty much everyone. I stopped short of all the girls from Jr. and Sr. High school who turned me down. Well, they never actually turned me down in real life, but when I asked them to go on a date with me in my mind, the situation always played out that way… along with them pointing and laughing. Fictitious women can be so cruel. Anyways, so for the next week, we were responded to with well wishes, congratulations, good luck, and many “It’s about time jackass, what took you so long?” That last Hallmark card was given to me, signed by her friends. Non Fictitious women can be so cruel.
We received a few engagement presents. By the way, I’m not sure why anyone deserves or should receive presents for getting engaged. It’s like getting rewarded for just the thought of doing something. “I’m gong to climb a mountain!” “Really? That’s great news. Here, have some freeze dried cake”. One of the presents we received were two tickets to the bridal fare that was going to be held at the local convention center. Thousands of soon to be brides (and some that aren’t even in a relationship), each with a support group of friends and family checking out all the things that are mass marketed to make their day unique. There was a note on the pamphlet stating that there would be a special section for guys, filled with big screen TVs and lounge chairs. For some reason my fiancée thought that that would win me over into wanting to attend the event. That some men’s daycare service would sound like Eden. How would that even work? Does she sign me in and hang out until I make some friends and feel comfortable?
My birthday was coming up and as such, my future bride asked me what I wanted to celebrate. Now, for the most part, I’ve never asked for anything on my birthday. I never really thought I should get things for staying alive. But that’s just me. However, this year, the hamster felt a need to get back on the wheel and I had a brilliant idea for a present… a “Get Out of Jail Free Card. A proverbial pass that states I would not have to take part in Bridezilla Day, and an agreement that I would not receive any guilt trips as a result. Because she agreed to this is definitely why I am a very lucky man. She said that she would ask her mother and aunt to play the roles of psychologist, trainer, medical staff and human emoticons. Her mom agreed, not that there was any question about it, however on this day, it would come with one stipulation.
Ah, the fine print. All I could think of was the countless sitcoms in which a chain of “I’ll do this for you if you get that person to do this other thing for me and then that person needs a favor from another person and so on”. However, her request wasn’t so bad. Quite normal if you ask me. She could go only if I took care of her Lamb. Let me repeat this. I, Bib, one part East Indian, two parts Canadian, forty seven parts yuppie suburbanite, would be taking care of a baby lamb. Yes all lambs are babies. However, this one was a freshly hatched specimen. What? They don’t come from eggs? Oh man, this may end badly.
When I spoke to my friends of this, they were some what envious. Like I was baby- sitting a new born human baby. The realization sank in for them when I asked them how to take care of a baby farm animal. And no, children’s cartoons do not make good manuals. You might as well ask me and them how to take care of a baby unicorn (which I hear are adorable).
So the day came. I took care of my new friend Mader. And for what it’s worth, it wasn’t all that bad. I fed him every four hours from a baby bottle. Let him out of his temporary abode to jump on the couch, the table, the counter, my head and pretty much any where else he wanted to. I got to sit on the couch and watch football (I actually don’t like football, but I thought that this was one piece of normalcy that I could hang on to while I was living my one day reality show), and in the end no one got sent to the doctor, the vet or the oven. Seventeen and a half months to go.