I’m not even sure that I want children of my own. I don’t necessarily hate my niece and nephew but to have actually raised them from birth? It’s not something I would have wanted to do and be proud of.
I don’t want kids. I’m certain of that fact now that I think about it. I would never want children of my own.
And thank god James agrees with me.
We were talking about it last week – I remember thinking it was out of the blue – and we both agreed that given our lifestyles, having a child would seriously impede on our personal lives. No more date nights, no more last minute holidays, no more sex on kitchen floor. It’d be horrible.
And yes, we do have sex on the kitchen floor and yes, it is as uncomfortable as it sounds. But things happen. Sometimes the kids are out for the afternoon and James is making lunch. Without his shirt on – it’s a Saturday. And sometimes I surprise him. In the kitchen. Without a shirt on. It happens.
It’s actually kind of fun.
When we have the house to ourselves we tend to have sex in weird places and that’s not the point of this post.
Well it is but we’ll get to that.
The point is, if we had a kid we couldn’t live our lives the way that we do. We would never have the house to ourselves. We’d never have any privacy; I’d have less time to kill, he’d have less time to chase me. It’d be a disaster.
Which is why I was so panicked when this weekend rolled around and I realized I was…late. Really late. And then I remembered Tuesday night a few weeks ago. Jason was “studying at the library” with his girlfriend and Sandra was at yet another band practice. James and I had the house to ourselves for a few hours and he decided to make a date night out of it. We don’t get as many date nights as we’d like. He’s had to pull a few extra shifts at the station – which I apologized for – and since I’ve started being a little more spontaneous with my kills I’ve become a little...overzealous with my body count. So when we get a rare night off we take it.
That particular night was quite special. You’ll recall my mother’s mysterious hold on me which temporarily prevented me from committing murder. That afternoon, I had broken free and killed a young man on the bus. It was a pretty big deal. And James wanted to celebrate so he took the night off of work and we went out to a nice dinner.
Ladies (and Gentlemen, I don’t judge), my husband can wear a suit. He wears it very well. All clean shaven and toned muscles in a fitted jacket. And he’s all mine ladies (and gentlemen). After I killed one of the waiters who had very slow service, I dragged my cop husband home by his loosened tie and ravaged him, like any good homicidal maniac, on the kitchen counter – where we keep the steak knives.
We were very eager that night.
We might have (definitely) forgotten protection.
And this weekend I realized I might be pregnant. Needless to say I was not expecting this to happen now.
Skipping over the panic attacks, and the random stabbings that you might here about on the news when the bodies are found, I had a doctor’s appointment yesterday and was told – rather quickly and in no uncertain terms – that I was not pregnant. It turns out my spontaneous killing cycle has affected other cycles as well and it’s all perfectly normal. James and I, of course, celebrated by making very sure that we rolled a condom on before we fucked against the window in the guest bedroom. Totally normal. Right?
So in conclusion: Murder is fun, I hate kids, and James and mine’s sex life is better than ever.
If there’s a moral or a lesson in there somewhere I’m not finding it. Good luck.
And as always, dear readers,
This is a work of fiction. Any relation to events or persons past or present is unintentional.