Disclaimer—I do not own DB/Z/GT...it's not fair!
Quick Note—I'm very naughty when it comes to updates. I've been out playing more than sitting at home and being creative with the keyboard. Sorry to keep ya waiting. But thank you for all the cookies (reviews)! I ate 'em all.
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Entry Eight: Feed the need.
And here we are, well into the second month. By now, the baby has arms, legs, organs, and all the works. And how do I know all this? Pan has blessed herself with a brand new library of baby books and novels on pregnancy she has been buying all the past month.
Every day she would sit down and open up a new book and, if I'm around, she'll make me sit down and read with her. So I now bear the knowledge of how a baby is developed.
Oh, and get this: No longer is the baby called an embryo, but a fetus. Pronounced almost like "feed-us." And that is exactly what my little wife has been constantly saying these past several days.
"Trunks, babe, we're hungry," she would say with a bright smile. "Feed us!"
And off I'd run to the kitchen to scour up anything edible for her to eat. Dude. Pregnant women vacuum up anything that's suitable for eating. Or not. A couple of days ago, Pan accidentally forgot that the milk was overdue and made herself a grand bowl of Lucky Charms. Three hours later, she wasn't so lucky.
Never have I seen anyone eat so much. I mean, I am the king of food here. A year ago, I beat Goten and Ubuu in a eating contest at a cook off. I can finish over a dozen beers in a heart beat. I can woof down a one pound burger in one whole bite. But now, I am outdone by my little wife who is half my size.
Well…later on I'll be half her size.
Signed, Trunks
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Entry Nine: Knock on wood.
I believe all the cashiers at the neighborhood grocery store know me by face and name due to the billions of times I've been there recently. Every night at approximately three a.m., Pan would roll over, snuggle her nose in my neck to butter me up, and then pop the question of:
"Honey, would you be kind enough to get me some granola bars with hot Tabasco sauce?"
Or:
"Jalapeño chips in garlic dip sound good right about now, don't you think?"
This time, she wanted vanilla ice cream with grape jelly. I'm beginning to wonder if it's just the pregnancy thing that's making my wife crave the nastiest combinations of food…or if it's the baby that's demanding all this. Hopefully, it's the first option. (Knock on wood.)
Why don't I take her along with me, you ask? Good question. If anything, I try to keep my wife away from the grocery store as much as possible…or else she'd buy the entire warehouse and stock up on vanilla ice cream and grape jelly.
But…I assure you now that it's all good, my friend. After I do a quick run to the store and return with her bizarre food combinations, she lavers me with plenty of kisses and I rub her satisfied belly, our baby, to sleep. And that's always priceless.
Well…enough chitchat. I've some grocery shopping to do. Hmm, this is actually the third night she's requested vanilla and grape jelly. Our baby is probably gonna turn out vanilla and purple jelly-ish.
Should I be scared? (Knock on wood.)
Signed, T.V.B.
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Entry Ten: Sleeping Beauty
I woke up this morning to find my wife still sleeping next to me.
Usually, Pan was always up at six a.m. sharp while I slept in to about eight since I had to be at work at nine. Right now, it was 7:30 and she was still snoozing away. I gave her a kiss and she stirred a bit, but was still fast asleep. I let her sleep while I took my morning shower and got ready for work.
And after I was done with all that, I returned to the bedroom to see she was still sleeping. Wow. Light-sleeper Pan managed to sleep through my loud showering and out-of-sync singing.
A miracle.
I let her sleep doze on; it's been awhile since I got a chance to watch the angel sleep. Pan is as amusing awake as she is unconscious. During sleep she'd randomly scrunch up her face, almost as if she was having a grotesque nightmare, and her limps would be deliciously spread out everywhere, butt square in the air with face mooshed against the mattress. And that is why we have a king sized bed.
But it wasn't until I was rummaging through the drawers that I noticed I had no clean underwear. I had to wake Pan.
"Pan?" I rubbed her hip.
She rubbed her eyes and woke up, smiling up at me beautifully and held her arms up to be hugged.
I hugged her, but I had to state my predicament as well, "Pan, I have no underwear."
"Oh, babe, I'm sorry," she told me. "I was feeling so tired yesterday and took a nap, and I guess I completely forgot when I woke up. It's washed but it's still in the dryer, just do down to the utility room and grab it."
The utility room: an entirely unfamiliar location for a man who's never done a spot of laundry before in his life. Martha, our house maid, comes only on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I could have asked her, but today was Wednesday. I'm embarrassed to say this, but I did a bit of scavenger hunting in my own home for a pair of boxer briefs. I ended up in numerous of places like the basement, one of the coat closets, but I made it on the third try.
I was feeling all cocky with pride in finding the utility room until I opened the dryer…and nothing was there. I opened the washer, and there were my clothes...all soggy. Apparently, my wife also forgot to put the clothes in the dryer. But it's too late to turn back now. With the courage and boldness of a proud stubborn man, I pulled out the first boxer I grabbed and put it on.
And went to work in moist underpants.
Signed, Trunks
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Entry Eleven: Enhanced breasts!
Isn't it every man's dream to have their wives grow bigger tits? I don't know if it's just me, but I think Pan has grown up a size…or two. They're huge.
Pan dropped a spoon and bent down to pick it up. And I think my jaw hit the table.
Too bad it's for the baby and not for me.
Signed, Trunks Briefs
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Entry Twelve: Shopping for baby stuff…and stuff.
Who says the fathers have it easy? I will condemn all those raging feminists who state women have the hard end of the baby-bargain.
Today was a peaceful Sunday…and Sundays are meant for sleeping in and being a bum. But…I was deprived of this grand leisure time by being woken up at eight a.m.
EIGHT A.M. on a beautiful SUNDAY.
"Trunks, hon," Pan shook me. "It's time to get up."
"Are you hungry?" I asked.
"No."
"Did someone from the office call?"
"No."
"Okay, goodnight."
"Trunks!" she thumped me. "Get up, now!"
And…I was up. I nearly missed the toilet peeing, but I was up. I nearly fell asleep brushing my teeth, but I was up. Up and driving Pan to a baby store at freaking eight in the morning.
No caffeine. Pan wouldn't allow me to have my wonderful Iced Caramel Macchiato since she wasn't allowed to consume any caffeine. But what's the point in getting decaf when it's the caffeine that jump starts my system? But then I figured…Pan'll only be pregnant for another seven months or so. Seven more months with no consumption of caffeine or alcohol. May the Lord be with me.
Tots N' Toys was…delightful.
Yes, if I was to pick one word to describe it, it would have to be that. Right as I stepped foot into the children's department store, it was like a whole new world. It gave me a warm fuzzy feeling inside. But I felt like I grew ten times my size, everything was mini sized and compact. It was…cute. No, no, delightful. Grown men don't use the word, ahem, cute.
Anyways, Pan was glowing. She looked so happy and excited, pointing out all the baby essentials and products. Then she gasped and picked up a contraption that looked like something you'd milk a cow with. The machine was in a small discreet black case with a long plastic tube that connected two plastic suction thingies with a little bottle attached at the bottom.
"It's a Medela breast pump!" she beamed.
"You…pump your breasts with these?" I asked. "What, why – to make em bigger or something?"
"No, no, I can't breast feed in public, so this machine pumps the milk from my breasts into a bottle for the baby."
She pressed a button on the little motor machine set on display and the plastic suction thingies started to move. Woah, I was amazed. I didn't know we could milk our woman like we milked our cows. And I can't wait to see Pan 'milk' herself.
"It's portable too and it's lightweight," she informed, placing it into the cart.
Pan sure did her homework on reading up on baby supplies, she knew exactly which brand was the best rated and highly recommended. And also the most expensive. The baby industry must be the wealthiest in persuading the gullible mothers-to-be with all the crucial needs of a baby. I mean, come on, there's a trash can made especially for diapers?
"Pan, why do we need that thing," I pointed to the device that looked like an oversized thermos.
"It's a Diaper Genie," she told me.
"What's it do?"
"You throw dirty diapers in them."
"Can't you throw them in a trash can?"
"Yes, but it stinks."
"Then flush it down the toilet."
"Trunks! You can't flush diapers down the toilet," she laughed at me. "This contains the smell."
"Does baby poo stink that bad?"
"Don't you remember changing Orhi's diapers?"
The horrid memory of Orhi's powerful poo stench rushed to my head oh too quickly. I swear, one whiff of baby poo will render any man unconscious. And that ain't gonna happen to me.
"Done deal."
And onward we progressed through the endless maze of baby utilities. Pann said that she was saving the expensive stuff, like the baby car seat, the baby crib, the baby stroller, for people to give her at the baby shower. And how many times did I say baby in that one sentence?
With the lack of caffeine, I strayed behind a bit while Pan was examining the state of the art: unleakable baby bottles. Seeing that she was going to take awhile, I found myself a comfy looking beanbag chair and made myself comfortable. After a few minutes, I think I drifted off.
Then, out of nowhere, a football smacked me upside the head. It hurt.
If I wasn't at least half conscious, I would have toppled over. But no…I was wide awake now with a bit of steam flarin' out outta my nostrils. My head hurt, hurt real bad, and I was mad. And I caught sight of my prime suspect.
A small little bugger who looked to be around five years of age, short black hair and blue eyes. He pointed at me and babbled something and then scurried off, laughing hysterically. I ran after him with clawed hands.
"Hey!" I caught sight of him.
The boy laughed and continued running, turning and streaking down the next aisle over. And on and on we ran like cat and mouse. The kid was fast, but if I wasn't so tired, I could've caught him…
"Trunks!" Pan called.
"Yamato!" hollered a man from behind her.
It was Yamcha. Dammit.Just when I promised not to make a fool of myself again.
"Trunks-man! Whoa!" Yamcha hollered in surprise.
And yes, I was surprised too. Here I am carrying a bright red waffle bat chasing after something that's the size of my thigh.
"Daddy! Daddy! It's the devil! It's the devil!" the little shrimp squealed as he ran passed me to Yamcha.
"Hey little man, Mr. Briefs isn't the devil, he's a daddy too!" Yamcha ruffled his son's hair.
The kid looked up at me with wide eyes. OO
"Don't give the kid a heart attack," I said, raising an eyebrow at the kid.
"Trunks, were you chasing the little Yamato around?" Pan looked peeved.
Yamato nodded his head fiercely and stuck his tongue out at me.
Uh oh, let's brace ourselves.
"Uh, no honey, we were…we were just playing."
Yamcha roared with laughter. "See Pan? He'll do fine in fatherhood. You two can even baby-sit little Yamato here if ya like."
The kid shot me an evil grin. It frightened me.
"Um, I don't think he takes a liking to me," I said.
"Nonsense! My Yamato here can hang around anybody," he gave me a hard slap on the back. "He's my own little assistant on the baseball field and I've been teaching him a couple of fighting moves too. Come on Yamato, my boy! Show Mr. Briefs one of your moves."
And then the kid kicked me. It hurt almost as bad as the football to the head, but I stood my ground like a proud man.
"Charming." That will be my second bruise for the day.
"Oh, Trunks, he's so cute and fierce," Pan chuckled.
"Fierce, yes," I grunted.
"All right Briefs I'll let you get back to your baby shoppin'," Yamcha held out his hand and I shook it, and then leaned over to give Pan a hug.
We said our goodbyes and Pan bent down and held out her arms to the little boy. "Bye, bye Yamato."
Yamato run into her arms and gave her a fat kiss on the cheek. Then he looked up at me and grinned at me, showing his teeth. And I bent down to his level and grinned back, showing my teeth. He gave one petrified look and ran away.
It seems as though I'm the epitome of trepidation in the eyes of children. But that's okay, that's okay. No worries. I'll buff my kid up to fear no fear.
Bwhaha. Ha…ha.
Signed, T. Briefs
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Entry Thirteen: The Aura of Evilness.
Today was the first heated argument we've had in a long time. The argument was actually over my obsession of hair. My mother just came back from her trip—which was one month over at the Americas for a business contract and, as usual, Bra threw a private dinner party with a few close friends. We were invited and we were running late…because I was doing my hair.
I swear, I usually never take longer than five minutes on the 'doo', but tonight my hairs weren't swinging my way. I usually let it flop down in front of my eyes. But my hair grows super long, super fast. And now, it was a just an inch over my shoulder's, which meant I had to spend extra time figuring out what I would do with it. I think I'm going to need a haircut very soon…
"Trunks, how much longer are you going to take?" she looked pretty steamed up.
"Hey, hey, don't interrupt the process of hairstyling," I told her. "It takes massive amounts of concentration."
She looked bored. Then said, "Let me do it."
"Pan, babe, every stroke of the comb is crucial. I'm sorry, but you just don't have the skill."
"I have skill!"
"No, look at your hair," I flipped a flock of her shiny black locks. "No style."
She gasped. "I should punch your right in your nose for that stupid comment!"
I wiggled my eyebrows at her.
"Whatever, you just need to stop wasting so much damn time," she snapped. "Just tie the freaking mop of hair up already and lets go!"
"Mop of hair?"
"That's what it looks like."
"Oh, baby…you hurt me badly," I shot her a cunning smile. I looked her up and down. And she looked pretty damn good in that little white dress. It'd look even better on the ground.
"Trunks, no," she said, her eyes wide. I guess she noticed my staring at her hips and chest.
She backed away from me cautiously, and I could see a smile slowly forming on her lips. And that made me want her even more, her deceptive appearance kills me every time. She was like…a seductive mistress with a mask of an angel. I grabbed her arm and pulled her to me and pressed my lower half against hers. She giggled against my lips as I…clandestinely undid her back zipper and slipped my hand in to touch a bit of her…ahhh.
Then she pushed against me and the magic was gone. "Trunks, we're late."
Typical Pan. Extinguishing the fire as soon as she lit it.
Wish me luck,
Trunks.