It's A Cigar!

Turpin is going to birth a baby soon.
If Nostradadamus was still around, he'd owe me five bucks.
I didn't do it.
Neither did the Wood Twins (it would have taken both of them).
Peter did it.
His funeral, guys.
But I'm bothered that I haven't figured out the gender yet.
I figured that after the first day I'd be able to look at her and say, "Girl."
"Boy."
"Ninja Turtle."
But I'm as clueless as everyone else, which I hate.
You know how grandmothers used to dangle the spoon over the womb?
That's how they'd get the gender.
Have you read Middlesex?
I sort of thought I'd be the spoon, y'know?
And that I'd be right (for once).
If I can't be the father of this dynamo, at least give me the dignity of knowing what colour to paint their room.
Turpin will no doubt paint it some non-gendered colour anyway.
Which would have been our first argument.
I guess the room is already painted, now that I think about it.
And now that I'm still thinking about it, I guess I would have seen this colour.
I don't know what it is.
But their kitchen is purple, I can tell you that.

Grandmothers never dangle the spoon now.
They're too busy buying the car seat, and sometimes the accompanying car.