So I walked into the living room one night and saw Fadza watching the Olympics. Women’s handball happened to be on. And he was sitting on the couch watching intently.

Obviously there’s only thing I got from here.

He doesn’t love me anymore.

Clearly.

He’s enjoying this isn’t he? 8 (or 12… or 10) muscular women in shorts, sweating and jumping up and down catching a ball. That’s hot land.

What a jerk, I thought as I rubbed my pregnant belly and waddled as fast as I could towards him (which isn’t very fast).

“You like them, is it?” was literally my greeting.

Completely shocked, he asked “Errr… the athletes?”

My completely rational hormones took over and wailed, “YOU DON’T LOVE ME ANYMORE.”

And I didn’t speak to him for 2 days.

Get your wife pregnant, guys. It’s fun.