The Spy Who Was Never Out In The Cold In The First Place.

I bring you another brief post from Scott’s parents’ computer, after which I will empty the cache, clear the browser history, and slink soundlessly back into the living room. It is like I am a secret agent, only I am wearing sweatpants, not carrying a gun, and after my mission I will be rewarded with a root beer float rather than the thanks of a grateful nation saved from the brink of nuclear destruction. Superficial differences, really.
Today I bought my very first item for the babies (Bold, no? I laugh, if not in the face of danger, at least after its back is safely turned!). It was a copy of Corduroy—a book about a bear who has an after-hours department store adventure and finally wins the approval of the appearance-obsessed mother of a little girl by having his button fixed. There is also a thrilling sequel in which Corduroy procures a pocket, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I am fifteen weeks tomorrow, visibly pregnant, and my heart still leapt and pounded crazily as I took the book to checkout. Still, it’s a start. Or a display of hubris that will come to haunt me after everything is lost. But hopefully the former.

I should sign off, before my absence is noted and I am interrogated until forced to break open the cyanide capsule I have hidden in my back left molar.

*The platypus snuffles at midnight*