Before I knew it, the day before the wedding was upon us and I knew I needed to wait until it was over. Charlotte has turned into a bridezilla, and Molly is stressed about her parents finding out the real truth and them being mad at her for lying. She has too much on her mind right now that it wouldn’t be right to add one more thing that I know will upset her.
Since there’s no use denying how much of an asshole I am and I’m scared to death Molly will never trust me again or let me put my penis inside her which would be a tragedy I’ll never recover from, I’m doing whatever I can to show her I’m not that person anymore. I overheard her talking to Ava on the phone last week when she thought I was sleeping and I still can’t get her words out of my head. She was on her iPad going back through every damn post I made on the Alfanso D. page for the last six months. Even though I couldn’t hear what Ava was saying, it wasn’t too hard to figure out whenever Molly would say, “I know, right? He’s such a pig” or, “You’ve got to be a pretty stupid woman to ever sleep with someone like that.”
Yes, I was a pig. Yes, I was a bit of a man whore and yes, I exploited my sexcapades in a cookbook. I put up posts about how easy it was to sleep with any woman you wanted as long as you fed her chocolate. I made comments putting women down, putting relationships down and putting people down who had kids. I was that guy. The frat boy who refused to grow up.
Well, I’m assuming my behavior was like a frat boy since I was never actually in a frat, even though I tried to join one and was asked to never come back when I suggested we all go to a cooking class instead of doing keg stands.
And this leads us to where I am now, the day before Charlotte and Gavin’s wedding where Charlotte will finally break the news to her betrothed (after he says I do of course, so he’s less likely to leave the country), Molly will finally get to stop pretending she’s pregnant, and I’ll get to stop flinching every time her father jumps out at me and screams “BOO!”. Actually, that will probably always happen even after he finds out I didn’t impregnate his daughter since he still thinks I like to beat-off to photos of his wife.
I spent the last few days going back and forth with my publisher about this next cookbook and a new idea I came up with, trying to convince them I can make it just as good as the first one. They finally agreed last night, which brings me to the reason I am currently teaching my niece fun new vocabulary words and how to properly execute a kill shot while in a high-speed chase. Molly changed everything and I want her to know that even if she never trusts me again. What was originally going to be a sequel to Seduction and Sugar with even more over-the-top sex stories and matching recipes, is now: Baking and Babies: How to Spice it Up in the Kitchen AND the Bedroom When You Have Kids.
I’ve listened to Molly’s aunts and uncles and her mom and dad tell stories over the last few weeks about what it was like after they added kids to the mix and how they managed to keep the romance alive. Some were funny, some were sweet, and some were downright horrifying. Pampers really needs to get their act together if babies can manage to shit so much that it leaks out of their diaper, up their back and sometimes in their hair. I’m a grown ass man and even I can’t produce that much shit at one time.
All these stories were perfect for this cookbook, but I knew I needed real-life experience. The people who loved my first cookbook loved it because I shared a big piece of myself and my life on every page, even if I did it in a really slutty way and was never afraid to admit it on social media. A few hours with my niece seemed like the perfect way to get some experience as well as spend some time with her and learn how to not be so afraid of kids. They’re not so bad once you get the hang of it. They really are like tiny drunk people and I’ve been around my share of enough drunk people to know the following rules apply to both:
1. Be prepared to make a Taco Bell run for the border. They will scream for Taco Bell (can be substituted for McDonalds) until you have no choice but to give in and go to the drive-thru in your pajamas in the middle of the night if you want them to shut up.
2. Never let them out of your sight, especially around sharp objects, things that are flammable or anything they might trip over and hurt themselves.
3. Smile and nod no matter what they mumble, slur, scream, or cry. Pretending like you understand them will eliminate arguments and or more crying.
4. If they say they’re going to puke, do not hesitate to move your ass. Carry them like a football, drag them by the arm or toss them over your shoulder. Do whatever it takes to get them to a toilet, bush, sink or in some cases, the side of the road.
5. Know that accidents will happen. They can and will pee their pants, shit their pants and if you ignore number 4, puke on you and themselves. Keep a change of clothes and a container of wipes on hand at all times.
6. Watch what you say. If it’s something you don’t want repeated very loudly to everyone within shouting distance, don’t say it. Everything you say can and will be very hilarious to them and they take enjoyment in your misery.
7. Some of them like to be naked. They have no shame and don’t see the problem with taking their clothes off in public. Understand that clothes can sometimes annoy them. The clothes make them hot, make them itch, are too tight, too loose, or too ugly. Calmly tell them they have to put their clothes back on and offer assistance. If that doesn’t work, some may become argumentative and may even lash out by kicking, screaming, biting and or hitting. If that happens, throw your coat or the closest blanket around them and drag them away.
8. Always be firm and speak slowly, enunciating each word carefully. They don’t always understand the words coming out of your mouth so try not to lose your temper or get frustrated. Don’t be afraid to use a loud voice or threaten punishment, especially if their life could be at risk.
9. Never let them use your cell phone, iPad, iPod, laptop, or any other device that will connect them to your social media. They can and will post very bad things, but just know they aren’t doing it on purpose. It’s very easy to punch a few random buttons and the next thing you know, there’s a dick pick you sent to your girlfriend and forgot to erase on Facebook and your mother has been tagged.
10. Memorize the number for Poison Control.
I really should buy Valerie a pony or something. A few hours with her and this book practically wrote itself.
Valerie suddenly jumps down from the couch and runs out of the room.
“Hey! Where are you going?” I shout.
“I GOTTA PEE!” she replies.
Tessa really needs to get that shit checked. I haven’t even given her anything to drink since she’s been here just to try and prevent any accidents. While I listen to the sounds of the toilet flushing and the sink running and know Valerie didn’t somehow escape from a window, I quickly send a text to Tessa and tell her to call Valerie’s pediatrician.
Tessa immediately replies with a comment about how I just might make a good dad someday, and I pat myself on the back until she sends another text immediately after, telling me to just make sure I pick the right woman and not try to fertilize the entire state.
It’s annoying, but I deserve it. I’m going to prove to everyone with this cookbook that I’ve grown up and it’s all because of Molly.
Tossing my phone onto the coffee table, I watch Valerie come racing back into the room and hop back up on the couch next to me.
“Did you wash your hands?” I ask.
She reaches up and wipes her wet hands on my cheeks.
“That better be water and not pee,” I mutter, wiping the wetness off my face.