Dear Baby Borrower,
I understand you wanted to play a joke on your wife. I’m the same way with my husband. An idea will pop in my head, and I’ll think, How funny would that be?! Like what if I dragged a dead deer in from the street and propped him up in the driver’s seat of our car? I mean, have you ever seen a deer driving a Honda Accord?
But the difference between you and me is, I don’t act on those thoughts. I’ve never driven to the pet store, purchased the 7 hamsters, and stirred them into a pitcher of Tang.
But you, silly rabbit, you thought tricks were with kids. There I was with my baby girl on my lap in the lobby, and you appeared out of nowhere. Were you selling bootleg DVDs from your trunk or socks from a duffel bag? No, you didn’t have Rolexes or Coach bags with you. All you had were these hands, and you extended them as though you were about to catch a football or a Big Mac. Then you said these words:
“Lemme borrow your baby real quick. I wanna play a trick on my wife.”
You might be wondering about the face I made. I can explain. Imagine seeing Donald Trump’s head on Snooki’s body with Michelle Obama’s arms. That was my face.
You continued to crouch like a quarterback and, without even making eye contact with me, repeated, “Give me your baby real fast. My wife is coming.”
I would have given you my baby. If I thought for ONE second the joke was gonna be funny, it would have been worth a baby. I would have swaddled her in a blanket and laid her against your chest. I would have thrown in a sippy cup. Maybe let you baptize her.
But that’s where you fell short. Because when your wife walked up, you said, “Honey, I was gonna hold their baby and tell you, ‘Look, we’ve been blessed with a baby.’”
She didn’t laugh. She gave you that look like, “Oh, crap. You’ve done it again? You were NOT funny again? How much is this gonna set us back?”
Sir, I suggest you take those baseball mitt hands of yours and buy your wife some roses “real quick” on the way home. And next time you want to borrow a baby, keep it tight. Come on the scene like you’re the next Tracy Morgan or sumthin. Hit ’em with some Brian Fellows.