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The Boisterous Birth of Chutney Curd
He acted out even before he was out
They wheeled Lemona Curd into the delivery room. She was covered with purple bruises.
“Who did this??” demanded the doctor, whose name was Rash. He was glad he wasn’t a dermatologist.
“My li’l Snookums,” said Lemona, patting her stomach. “He’s been kicking me for nine months. He wants out.”
“But you’ve got bruises everywhere!!” cried Dr. Rash. “On your arms, your legs, your face!!”
“He moves around a lot,” said Lemona.
Suddenly the room shook. The floor tilted beneath their feet. Doctors, nurses, and equipment were thrown about violently. It was the sort of thing you see in old Star Trek episodes when the Enterprise takes a hit.
A klaxon horn blared. The needle on the seismograph jumped. “I’ve got contractions registering 7.5,” said a technician, adjusting the little weights on his Richter Scale.
“I’ve got something!” cried Dr. Rash. “Damn! It’s the umbilical cord!”
“Launching transabdominal probe,” said a nurse.
She checked a monitor. “The baby’s pulling on the other end of the cord,” she reported. “Like he’s playing tug-of-war at a company picnic.”
