He and Thais had been trying without success to have a baby. His seed had found no purchase in Thais's sexy Brazilian uterus. What am I doing wrong? Gunn thought. What? What are we doing wrong? What? Why? I've stopped riding my bicycle, I wear boxers, and I don't hang out in hot tubs. I take vitamins that make my pee bright yellow and smell like cabbage soup. What else can I do to put a bun in Thais's sexy Brazilian oven?
Littlest did Gunn know, that although Thais had reconciled herself to loving Gunn, she drew the line at making babies with the infidel. I may be a traitor to my family, my religion, my real country, my sister, and women throughout all eternity, she thought, but I will not muddy the purity of my family tree with an enemy's offspring.
As a result, Thais was full of angst. She was also full of corn and tofu, and they made her feel like a veg.
She also felt hemorrhoids. They were the pits. I mean, having to go to the proctologist's to hear him or her say, "Hmm, uh, er, are you having trouble voiding?" And you there on all fours on the ice cold table wondering what "voiding" means. So you ask for an explanation since "voiding" sounds illegal in every state but California and the upper crust parts of Manhattan, and the proctologist pulls out his handy thesaurus and embarrasses you in front of your grandmother, who's staring at your kiester and comparing it to your Uncle Gene's kiester, the same Uncle Gene who had a little "lip" removed from "down there" because his "dirt" was spilling all over the toilet like an "outdoor sprinkler." The good doctor then grunts, "Do you have difficulty defecating, emptying your colon, target shooting Milk Duds, or dropping your kids off the bus?" To which you reply, "No, I poo-poo just fine."
Gunn felt Thais's angst and found it rough, scaly, and in serious need of moisturizers, so he took her on an around-the-world tour that did little to relieve their collective angst. They walked around inside Big Ben in London, and Big Ben didn't blink. They climbed the Eiffel Tower in Paris and didn't enjoy the view since it was freaking France full of freaking French people who had let the Germans waltz to Johann Strauss over and through them like stinky brie. Thais flowed like the Amazon on the Nile River after contracting dysentery from an imported Guatemalan fig that looked suspiciously like a man named Hector, Hector who dreamed of flooding numerous Egyptian hemp farmers and random archaeologists and other grave robbers with his patented pizza sauce. They leaned on The Leaning Tower of Pisa instead of each other, snoozed at 200 miles per hour on the bullet train in Japan, napped during their voyage in the Chunnel, and putted along at 60 kilometers per hour on the Autobahn.
But nothing relieved Thais's angst, Gunn's angst, Thais's hemorrhoids, or Gunn's longing for an heir ...
... until Emily Benderdondat showed up at the back door of Gunn's mansion on Christmas Eve wearing a delightful cinnamon red and spearmint green dental floss necklace, a marvelous cat suit, and flip flops.
Emily claimed to be lost.
"I'm lost," Emily claimed. "Could I use your phone and a preferably new or near-new toothbrush?"
"Oh Gunn, can we keep her?" Thais said possessively. "We could raise her as our as yet unborn daughter, Rafe."
"We don't even know her name," Gunn said evenly.
"That never stopped you before," Thais said haltingly.
"So we should just adopt her without her consent?" Gunn asked, adopting a consensual tone. "In probably one hundred percent of the countries on this planet, that would be considered kidnapping or the beginnings of a really bad movie starring a little redheaded girl and a dog."
Emily then lifted her bright red bangs and showed them a pudgy pit bull puppy and a barcode tattooed on her forehead.
Luckily, there had been a sale on point-of-sale scanners at a going-out-0f-business sale for Fill-In-The-Blank Corporation, a company that had failed because of the fiscally irresponsible banks that needed a bailout from financially angry American citizens who elected fiscally irresponsible politicians to give the fiscally irresponsible banks the money. Thais had picked up the scanner for a song, and she sang "My Country 'Tis in Debt Up to Its Neck" so beautifully that they gave her a twenty percent discount and tickets to see an off-off-Broadway show starring the aging cast of The Love Boat.
Thais scanned Emily's barcode, and "$19.99" flashed on the screen.
As I suspected, Thais thought, Emily is nothing but an "As Seen on TV" product being hyped loudly by an abnormally creepy guy who believes we actually need his ridiculous crap.
Fascinated by the glowing red light and the idea of there being so many barcodes, so little time, Thais left Gunn and Emily alone so she could scan every barcode in the house because she liked to hear the beeps.
"It is about time we were ... a-low-un," Emily said, using some of her dental floss necklace to, well, floss between her molars and incisors.
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