Her eyes bewitch me. Duty and responsibility fade away, and all that's left is simple fascination for this woman who is unexpectedly carrying my child.
Fatherhood is nothing I've ever wished for. Yet the idea of a wee one tromping around the meadows with her dark eyes, hockey stick in hand, torturing the sheep and running and laughing-
It all takes my breath away and leaves the most natural rightness settling in my soul.
I loved Gracie and Manning's story. It wasn't as outrageous with the over-the-top hilarity like Joey and Zeus or Ambrosia and Chase's stories. It was sweet and still really funny, so it doesn't run the risk of diabetes level cuteness. Since I'm feeling lazy tonight, I'm not going to bother going into what I like about it or anything. I'm just gonna throw in a bunch of quotes and snippets that I liked.
Princesses don't say fuck.
They don't dress up like dinosaurs to toilet paper the freaky weird blow-up Halloween decoration zoo on the high school band director's front lawn either, or count on people ordering sugar cookies printed with dick pics for half their monthly income.
Wanna guess how many of those I've already done today?
Well you're wrong.
The toilet papering was last year.
And, for the record, I've printed more cookies with pussies on them than dicks today.
Which doesn't make any of this any better. Or worse, I guess.
~
My lips twitch up. She shall save me? "I believe it's the prince's role to save the damsel in distress, my lady."
"Oh, fuck that old fairy tale. You need someone who can get shit done, and you're looking at her. Your Royal Highness."
I'm unable to stop a bark of laughter. She's so bloody adorable. "And I'm to be your prize for slaying the dragon?"
Her nose wrinkles. "No."
"No?"
"Princesses don't say fuck," she informs me, "and I have no intention of stopping, which means I have no intention of being your princess."
~
But I'm still not princess material. I just shipped out twenty-four cookies printed with the tip of a dick that was decorated with a Sharpie to look like a smiley face-and yes, the nose is what your thinking, though the smiley face was drawn upside down so that the head had giant hairy testicle ears, and yes, that does mean it's as short as you're thinking-and since I found my wallet last night, today I stopped in a fancy boutique I've been drooling over the last three days to buy those thigh-high green glitter boots that will undoubtedly make me look like a mermaid hooker if I pair them with a green glitter bra and matching g-string.
And really, if you're going to be a hooker, a mermaid hooker is the way to go. Because I'm pretty sure mermaids don't have vaginas. So clearly they can't get pregnact, which is practically the biggest risk of sex. Trust me. I'm living it. Also, I don't have a clue where a merman would hide his dick in his own scales, so it's not like mermaids would be giving head or hand jobs, so are mermaid whores even necessary? And now that I think about it, it does beg the question of where baby mermaids come from, but do we really care?
No.
No, we don't.
Until you consider that if they don't have vaginas, I also don't know where their orgasms would come from.
And now I'm feeling sorry for mermaids.
I'll simply have to wear my mermaid boots and have all the orgasms for them. With Manning. And his magical trident, if you know what I mean.
~
I gape at him as words start to slowly filter into my brain, but the words still aren't sifting fast enough for me to form coherent sentences.
Mister Beans leaps onto the table between us, turns, and lifts his tail to show me how well he cleaned himself after his trip to the litter box.
Manning sneezes.
"Oh, dog," I whisper.
He grins despite his rapidly reddening eyes. "Bring the cat. We'll dress in dinosaur costumes and chase it about the palace."
I laugh. I can't help it. "You're insane."
"I'm a man who has unexpectedly found himself head over heels in love."