When my ex was preggers, I didnt care if it was a boy or girl. I really didnt. He was a girl though and I couldnt be happier. He didnt like sports (like me), he didnt like roughhousing (like me), he wasnt very creative (.....ok 2 out of three aint bad).
I was 38 when I was dating Laura. She had 2 little moogies:
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My shaddow was Damian. To him I was a god. The female human with the attitude was Kira. That was us a Starved Rock (although those rocks looked well fed to me since it took forever to climb them).
It was my first experience doing a parent-type-thing for a girl. We went to parks a lot. Most parks we could walk to. "Damian, wanna go to the park?"
"Ok, get your shoes." And he couldnt get them fast enough.
"Kira, wanna go to the park?"
"Ok, get your sandals"
"Yeah. So we can go to the park."
"You...wanna go to the park?"
"You want to go barefoot?"
"Good. Because you cant. There may have been hobos breaking glass out there."
And heeeere came the 'why' questions. Thank goodness my ex came out of the bedroom (after 45 minutes she looked just the same as she did before. Grrr), and screamed "KIRA! GO GET YOUR DAMN SHOES!"
But .....I want to wear my sandals.
.....<---If that is a face, that was mine.
Point being; no matter what age, race, or species, women have their own language that men (spupid as we are) will never understand. I saw it between my dad and my sister. We men just go with the flow. Why else would a grown man let a little shit paint his lips:
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