It seems like journalists are really devoting a lot of time to preparing for the Royal Baby. AS I AM A JOURNALIST I am trying to do that, too. Here is what I am doing.
- Made some ravioli, quietly hoped that maybe the baby would be born so I could have something to write about on that topic.
- Ate ravioli. Pretty good. Nice sauce.
- Thought maybe I would like the baby to be a girl, because then she would be Queen, and it’s cool that England has evolved that way. Good for them.
- Thought maybe I would like to boy, because that would give my imaginary, as yet unborn female child a better shot at becoming a princess (maybe her imaginary, as yet unmet father is a Lord? We don’t know.)
- Spent a really long time thinking about how gross it is to give birth
- I bet Kate Middleton will give perfectly though, and not defecate on herself in the process or anything like that.
- I wonder if this theoretical British aristocrat I’m marrying would be cool with us adopting, and, if so, if our adopted girl could still marry the Prince of England in such a situation.
- Forcefully told someone that the royal baby would be named Diana, because this is going to happen. You know it’s going to happen. You know that.
- Told someone else that it’s probably going to be named Diana regardless of gender, but secretly I think that if it’s a boy it will be named Albert after Queen Elizabeth’s father. Pretty sure on this one.
- Or Beelzebub. Feels right.
- Thought about maybe making ravioli again tomorrow.
Picture via Getty