Smart Dragons, Foolish Elves by Alan Dean Foster & Martin Harry Greenberg

Author:Alan Dean Foster & Martin Harry Greenberg [Foster, Alan Dean & Greenberg, Martin Harry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction, Fantasy Fiction, Fiction, Fantasy, General, Fantasy Fiction; American, Short Stories, Fantastic Fiction; American, Fantasy Fiction; English, Humor in Literature
Google: 5uJZAAAAMAAJ
Publisher: Ace Books
Published: 1991-03-15T04:00:00+00:00

The companies are beginning to get obnoxious again;

they view me as a viable sales gimmick. Entire new

markets! Dolls! Sweatshirts! Advice to unwed fathers! Bah!

The only consolation I have is that Pravda has not yet

announced the previously unpublici’zed case of a Russian

man who gave birth to a healthy seven-pound boy—or

maybe twins—back in 1962.

Well, we had to give in; Blue Cross would not spring for

my obstetric expenses. We expect to win the lawsuit, but in

the meantime the clinic’s offer was our only hope of

financial nonruin. We intend to get those hard-fisted bastards, however. Deny childbirth coverage on account of my

sex, will they? I will relish watching them squirm in court.

Let’s hear it for the Equal Rights Amendment, brothers!

Buying a suitable nursing brassiere was quite an adventure.

It is a triumph worth crowing over. Single-handedly, I

have thrown an entire medical research team into panic.

Now that they’ve got me, they don’t know what to do with

me. Hi-ho, they’re so confused! They’d love to be able to

say, there’s been a mistake, it’s only a strange growth, but

not after the X rays.

Actually, it began as a wart on my ass.

My art is suffering, I admit, but I realize I am not the first

whose baby preempted a career.

When the child is two months old, I intend to go back to

work full-time, if at all possible. Meanwhile, I am catching

up on my reading.

I have accepted an invitation to speak before the upcom-ing Gay Rights Conference. My topic (by request): Male

Mothers: A Viable Gay Alternative to Adoption.

YES SIR THATS MY 175

Though uncertain how

flattered to refuse.

feel about all this, I was too

The day has come. Swollen-bellied they cart me away,

accompanied by a certain red-haired lawyer. The connection between my vast abdomen and a son or daughter seems

tenuous even at this moment; it is hard to believe that

another living creature is in there. I think Saul’s a good

name for a boy, although Minerva might be more appropriate. Though the prospect of being a househusband swaddled

by mewling babes frightens me, the whole experience has

been most enlightening. I wonder if my feelings are

common.

They have the operating theatre all ready for me. Doctors

circle like eager vultures. (A large fuss was needed to get

my wife’s permission to be with me.) TV cameras wait,

ready to dolly in for the close-ups; should we have sold

tickets to the intrigued M.D.? But viewing privileges were

included in the deal we made.

It will have to be the knife. The one thing I lack is an

egress; however the little bugger managed to sneak inside

me, he or she forgot to provide for a graceful exit. For some

reason, neither my wife nor I really worried about it; I guess

I thought I would sprout a zipper in the final week, or

something.

They assure me the caesarean is routine and I do not have

to be afraid.

Since this is a high-class operation, well-funded, I get the

luxury of an epidural. I would have insisted on a local rather

than general anesthetic in any case. will not sleep through<p>

the birth of my child. In their arrogant professional distance

they assumed I would take a dive.

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