If you’ve hazarded a guess at what the sex of my child is
going to be, why don’t you hazard a guess at the chances that I hate you?
I’ll save you the bother. 100%.
And if you also happen to be right, and say something along
the lines of “Didn’t I tell you?” I’ll hate you even more. I’ll 1000% hate you.
I’ll hate you ten times more than it’s actually possible to hate someone.
That’s how much I’ll hate you.
Now you might say that I’m overreacting. I might tell you to
fuck off. Guessing the sex of a child is hardly in the same realm as a high
stakes poker game. It can literally only be one of two choices. 50/50, split straight
down the middle. Mathematically speaking, there’s a 50% chance that you’re
right. And you’ll act like you based that one in a million shot on some sort of
old wives tale that if pregnant ladies bumps are this way so therefore it’s a
boy. And if you’re right you’ll continue to perpetuate that myth until you’re
proven wrong, in which case you’ll say that the baby was a fluke of nature or
something.
The only time I’ll be impressed by a guess is if you think
the baby will be a velociraptor, and it is.
Although if that happens that’ll be the least of my worries,
one assumes.
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