Today the good lady reminded me that the Doula had arranged her final visit.
Splendid! She is as much a part of our family as the cats! Let her come and we will make merry!
The good lady gave me an odd look. I let it pass. I was determined to maintain my cover as being a Doula lover for as long as I could. Ever since I had had my odd jabby fingered fevre dream I had harboured a deep-seated suspicion of the Doula and her Earth Mother ways.
I wondered how many more times was she going to visit? It seemed like every time was the last time till the next time...
The morning flew by quickly as the good lady instructed me on the many chores that she deemed required to make our house presentable to visitors. I was not aware that our house was such a shit heap until visitors were due and then the good lady went mental.
I had just finished the last task when the doorbell rang. Dutifully I trotted up and answered it.
The Doula swept past me gracefully with a smile and a nod on a scented tide of patchouli and lavender. I followed her into the lounge. Already I felt on the back foot.
The good lady greeted her like a sister. The cats came down from their eyrie and twined between the Doula's legs. My little daughter jumped up and down with excitement and asked the Doula to tell her stories.
I made a That's no moon face at the surging tide of womanity and headed off to the kitchen to make coffees for all.
When I came back the conversation was flowing. Talk of placentas, poops and sore boobies abounded.
After little more than an hour of reliving the wonders of childbirth, my own boobs started to feel a little itchy and sore. Still, I had to maintain my cover as a modern man, so I didn't run away and instead carried on nodding like those toy dogs in cars and occasionally interjected with a no way! or a seriously?!
I was doing well. Who knows, perhaps tonight I might be permitted to masturbate in the toilet as a reward?
I had been sneaking a look at steemit on my phone when I noticed that the conversation had paused. I looked up.
The Doula was upending a bag full of things onto the floor. They looked very peculiar. Like little furry dog jackets. How bizarre?
The Doula beamed.
So, I know last time we discussed re-usable nappies... I have bought a selection for you to borrow.
I gulped. A what what what? re-usable nappies? Like cloth that a human shits on that you then use again? My eyes bulged like Dobermans testicles. And wait... to borrow?!?!?!?
Eh, re-usable nappies? Like cloth? Like just cloth and then you have to... clean them? How do you clean them? Please don't tell me you stick them in the washing machine?
In my head, materialised a vision of all my clothes tumbling round in the machine in a frothy brown torrent of shit and piss. Oh, fuck no. Surely not?
The Doula tossed back her head and issued a tinkling laugh at the silly man-thing.
No, of course not. Do you have a bucket?
How very dare she! Of course I had a bucket. I was a fucking man. I had a garage full of buckets. Why was she asking after one of my many buckets?
If you fill a bucket with soapy water you can throw them in there for a day or two before putting them in the washing machine.
She gave me a see, its science kind of smile.
I spluttered in horror and looked at the good lady.
So we would have a bucket of poop in the kitchen? How would we get them out?
Oh that's easy, do you have a stick or a long piece of wood?
Of course I had a stick. Had she ever met a real man? I had a garage full of sticks and buckets and random bits of metal.
Yes, I could provide a stick??
Well there you go, hoik them out with the stick and put them in the machine. A hot wash mind, to kill any bacteria.
To my horror the good lady nodded in approval.
I stood and tried not to shake with righteous rage.
You are more than welcome to but I am not stirring a bucket of shit with a stick. Not for anyone.
I stomped off to my garage to sit among my buckets and sticks till the coast was clear.