Fluffing bastard. He should’ve known that now wasn’t the time to pull pranks on his amazing and beautiful and very pregnant wife. For one, we had a deal. And two, I was a little pissed that I hadn’t thought of pranking him out of the blue myself. And as a bonus reason, I was the miracle of life, for fudging’s sake. He should be treating me like a crystal fluffing princess.
Me: How’s the day going?
Thatch: Fantastic, Sweet Tits. I’ve got 2 crazy kids running around the house and a pretty little baby sound asleep in the crib in our new son’s nursery. Plus, a pig that’s sound asleep on his bed and a horse with a cat attached to his back sleeping in the nursery.
Me: That’s three kids and three pets, Thatcher. Last time I checked, we only had one of each.
Thatch: Technically, two kids. ;)
Me: Yeah, but that one is still physically inside of me. You don’t have to do anything right now. You have the easiest fluffing job ever. I’m the one who has to carry our giant child around.
Thatch: He’s not going to be bigger than Ace. And his head isn’t going to be “Thatch-size.” My manliness is like Maybelline; you’re not born with it.
Me: Pffffffft. How would you know? You’re just the giver of the sperm. I’m the one actually growing the baby. Literally, growing life inside of me. I should get a medal.
Thatch: I’ll give you a medal in the form of pussy pleasure.
Me: Add it to your IOU list. And please explain the two extra children and pets in our home.
Thatch: They’re just two little girls I adopted for us. Beautiful girls. You might have to breastfeed the one, but we know your perfect tits can handle anything. ;)
He was so full of sneakers. No doubt, the two children he was referring to had been birthed by my best friend, Georgia. Their nanny had recently left for college, and they were still trying to find the perfect match for the girls when both Kline and Georgia had to work. So, us being the best fluffing friends in the whole world, and the fact that we now conveniently lived just down the street from them, stepped up and helped them out when we could.
Me: When did Kline drop off Julia and Evie?
Thatch: About two hours ago.
Me: Why are Stan and Walter there, too? God, I hate that fluffing cat.
Jesus. I really did hate that cat. The disdain had started way back when—before Thatch and I got together—while Georgia and Kline were on their honeymoon. We were put in charge of demon cat sitting, and…well, Thatch had lost Satan.
And that very fact only showed how desperate Georgia and Kline must’ve been to put Thatch in charge of not only their kids, but their pets, too.
Thatch: Apparently, Stan is attached to Evie, and well, you know how Walter is. He can’t be away from his canine lover. Remember when you lost Walter?
Me: I didn’t lose him, numbnuts. YOU did. And are we just bringing them to dinner tonight at Winnie and Wes’s?
Thatch: Uh-huh…pretty sure you did, honey. And yes, that’s the plan. What time do you think you’ll be done?
I typed out I’m already done, but I didn’t hit send.
As I stared down at the text and blinking cursor, a lightbulb of devious prankster motivations filled my brain, and I knew I couldn’t pass up this brilliant plan. Payback for more than one trespass against me and all in one day’s work.
Get ready, Thatcher. The prank wars are officially on. Again.
I tapped my finger on the back button and deleted the text, then replaced it with the perfect lie.
Me: Not sure yet. Probably a few more hours. I’ll text you when I’m getting ready to head out.
Thatch: Sounds good. Don’t be too hard on those guys. They can’t help it that they’re not half the man I am.
His ego was off the charts.
I smiled to myself over the mere idea of how huge Thatch’s ego and other delicious parts were. God, I fluffing love him… But I’m totally going to prank his cocky ass.
Me: Love you, Daddy.
Thatch: Fucking hell, Cass. Stop calling me that when your luscious tits aren’t in my presence. You know once my engine is running I like to motorboat.
Me: ;)
I grinned and slid my phone into my pocket and started to head for my car.
It was officially half past pranking time.
Game on, motherfluffer.
Forty-five minutes of commute time later, I stood outside of our house with my ear pressed up against the door. The entryway was completely quiet, and I had a feeling Thatch was entertaining Julia and Ace in the playroom while Evie napped in the nursery. That little lady meant business with nap time. Like clockwork, every day around noon, she’d rub her eyes and demand a bed. I prayed to everything my second child would take after her sleeping habits.