Cast
Sebastian: a thirty-something-year-old small business owner who really loves his wife.

Scene
“Sebastian, what do you think about kids?”

What do I think about kids? I was not expecting that question. What kind of a person feeds their husband an amazing three-course homemade dinner and drops that on them when they’ve got a mouthful of crème brûlée?

“They’re alright. Depends on the kid, I suppose.”

I know she wasn’t asking about my general opinion of children but I have to buy time. Vanilla-flavoured custard is leaking out of the corner of my mouth. She rephrases to “us” having kids. I grab a handtowel for my face.

“Yeah babe, I mean, of course I want kids. With your looks and your and brains and my… unchippable fingernails, how could we go wrong? Smart, beautiful and naturally equipped to play the harp.”

Shit! I don’t want kids at all! I can’t stand poop and vomit, screaming, sleep deprivation and anyone who can eat three bags of lollies per day and not get fat.

The thing is, I’m a five. I’m in bad shape man, terrible shape. Every time I exercise I have to spend a fortune on chiro and physio. Had to stop jogging to keep up with the mortgage. My business is successful but not because I’m particularly smart. I just got lucky. I have seriously bad dandruff and allergies to almost everything that’s in shampoo and my breath is completely immune to the most powerful breath mints. Fuck, I’m lucky to be a four. But Vanessa, she’s easily a nine. Beautiful, master’s degree in science, amazing body – like swimsuit model amazing – and good at everything she does and everyone adores her and she’s basically perfect. I married way above my station man. Way above.

“That’s wonderful, hun,” she says. “You know… there’s never a good time to have kids… may as well get started.”

Fifteen minutes later I’m having the worst sex of my life. I mean, it’s amazing. Vanessa could charge five figures a day if she was in that line of work… not that I know the market value of high class escorts or anything. Anyway it’s terrible because her sex moans sound like (moans sexily a few times then wails like a crying baby).

This should make me softer than a McDonalds ice cream in the microwave but damn it, Vanessa is just too damned sexy. Barely seconds after she’s said “let’s have kids” and I’ve knocked her up. Fuck. A couple of weeks later, she yells at me and storms out of the house because I folded the fitted bed sheet the wrong way round and I have never been happier to see her period firing away at full blast.

I got lucky this time; my only saving grace was probability. The only thing I can do is never make love to my beautiful, beautiful wife ever again.

I start staying back late at work. Like, ’til after midnight. We practically double our sales that month. This is all fine and dandy until Vanessa pulls me aside and says, “Hun, why are you working such ridiculous hours? I don’t even get to see my own husband anymore.” I explain that sales needed to increase or the company would be in trouble and she points out that I don’t work in sales and all of a sudden she’s suspicious.

Shit! She probably thinks I’m having a bloody affair! Even if another woman would touch me with a pool cue I would never cheat on Vanessa. We make sweet, terrifying love and I leave the dishes in an unwashed heap in the sink for thirteen days until she throws a dirty plate at my head and thank Jesus she isn’t pregnant.

Alright, I can’t stay back at work, I can’t avoid sex, how am I going to do this? I mean, I don’t even want to avoid sex. I could get a vasectomy. Have my scrotum cut open and my sexual organs surgically mangled. (looks at crotch) On second thoughts, how about no fucking way. Um… well… (thinks for a long moment) got it!

The next day I call Vanessa from the emergency room of the local hospital. “Babe, I sat on a needle! I sat on a fucking needle! I’m going to die of hepatitis"...

END OF EXCERPT