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“Okay! Okay! I’ll go first,” I said, my voice so eager it wasn’t even funny.
Thatch stepped back a little while I pushed the needle into one of the white balloons. Once a loudpop!filled the room, I acted disappointed when nothing spilled out of it.
“Damn,” I muttered and handed the pin off to him. “Your turn, baby.”
Under Thatch’s command, the next white balloon popped and…nothing.
“Is something supposed to happen with these?” he asked, turning to hand me the pin back.
“The party store said they put pink or blue confetti in one of them.”
He nodded, completely puzzled by the whole situation—yet obviously and charmingly trying to please me—but I just kept up the act and popped the next balloon.
Still, nothing.
“Crazy, we’re down to three balloons. You sure they put shit in one of these?”
“They said they did.” I shrugged and just handed him the pin again.
Two more balloons later and still nothing.
And when Thatch popped the final balloon and nothing happened, he glanced at me with a furrowed brow. “I hate to break it to you, but whoever filled these balloons really fluffed up the plan.”
I pretended to be a little sad but, eventually, moved on to the cake. “I guess it’s a good thing I had the bakery do the same thing.”
“Huh?”
I opened the large box on the table, and inside sat a huge white sheet cake.
“Cass, this cake is white…” My husband was still so fucking clueless, it almost made me burst into laughter.
Do not laugh! Keep it together. Only a little bit longer…
Ihonestly had no clue what my wife was trying to achieve here, but I might as well have been a character onLost.
First, we popped a shitload of balloons that revealed absolutely nothing.
And now, apparently, we were supposed to somehow figure out the gender of our baby—which we already knew, by the way—by staring at some white fucking cake.
I told her as much, but she was evidently determined.
“No shit, T-bag,” she retorted, irritated. “The cake is supposed to be white. We have to fluffing cut it to find out if it’s pink or blueinside.”
Personally, I was still waiting for the big moment that involved the Supercock being ready to go, but unless I was going to eat that cake off her tits, I wasn’t seeing the connection.
Cassie strode into the small kitchen area and grabbed a knife from the drawer.
“Here, baby!” she exclaimed like this was the greatest party she’d ever attended. “You do the honors of finding out if we’re having a boy or a girl!”
I forced a smile to my lips and took the knife from her hands, but deep down, I was starting to feel a little worried that my beautiful, sexy, hot wife had been abducted and turned into one of those pod people.
The Cassie I knew used to think gender reveal parties were ridiculous.
But this Cassie? With the big, creepy clown smile and the balloons and the cake and fluffing Pinterest shit she was currently peddling my way? I was certain I had never met her until right this moment.
I mean, hell, I’d made damn sure I was only wearing boxer briefs when she got back from her alleged appointment. Now, I just felt like a fucking pervert standing there with a still hopeful, still half-hard cock and a knife in my hands to cut a cake that was supposed to tell me that I was going to have a son. Which, obviously, I already knew.
“C’mon, baby!” she exclaimed and clapped her hands. “Cut the cake so we can know if we’re having a boy or a girl!”
