The pool at my mother in law’s has opened, and I don’t have any trunks. Musette’s dad lets her know that he’s got a couple for me.

Are you sure they’re going to fit, I ask.

They’re large.

Musette is wearing my old swimsuit, even though she doesn’t even but just barely fit into it herself, and I’ve got a big pimple sticking out from the middle of my belly. It’s like Musette’s protruding navel. Everybody’s going to laugh at me, I say. I don’t want to go. I’ve only had one cup of coffee. I’ll bottle one for the road, but then I’ll want another, and I’ll want to keep drinking them until I fall asleep.

The dog is in the backseat. His face looks small on his little head because Musette shaved it, but she didn’t shave his body.

The clippers are like night and day, she says.

An intense pain launches in her stomach. She has me press on it, and I am able to feel the baby moving around. The pain goes away when she rolls over.

It feels like I went on a long hike, she says.

The shorts are Adidas. They’ve got the signature stripes. They are eight inches, her dad says. They have a liner, so you don’t have to wear underwear, which is good because Musette didn’t pack any for me.

It’s not her responsibility. I hear you say, and I totally agree, but you have to understand how tired I am all the time. I feel like I’m surfing on death’s door. It’s all the ditch digging, and don’t try to tell me otherwise. This is the true price of currentivism. And the rewards, the so-called spoils, nothing I’m ever gonna see. You see, that’s the great sacrifice, that I’ve got to be gone for any of it to come to fruition. I’m praying for it to benefit my estate. Maybe it will help my daughter. The goal has never been to hurt her, neither Musette. I’m doing what’s natural, and it’s not my fault that the world isn’t prepared to handle it.

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