This post rated R for disturbing imagery

When we were married, Dave's family sent us home with all sorts of gifts, well-wishes ... and an ugly, disturbing fertility statue.

Why my home needs a fertility statue at this moment is beyond me; I'd been married about 10 minutes when it found its way to me. It's like a nightmare.

It looks like a nightmare, too, with its face contorted and primitive and its legs all hunched up. It has ... it has ... Mom. I can't say it. Please look away. (It has a baby, um, mid-birthing process.)

GUYS. It's DISTURBING.

Over the last few months it's been in an Erin-enforced exile to the bottom of Dave's sock drawer. When I'd put away his clothes from the laundry, I'd specifically put the socks on the right side, pushing the others to the left, because I knew it was on the left, and God forbid my hand brush the ceramic statue. I might catch fire, or a case of the babies. Ahhh.

The premise is that the blessed statue will bring the fertility gods over to sit around and go "Ohh yeah, it's baby time." At least that's what my mother in law says. To me, it says "RUN. HIDE."

Today, maybe because it was Valentine's Day, or maybe just because Dave likes to think of himself as cruel, it made its way to work. How, good God, how?! How does this happen? It's tormenting me.

It was a joke, put on someone else's desk. Then it was laughed about, forgotten about, until it was put on my desk chair. PLEASE, get it OFF MY CHAIR was my initial reaction. And my second reaction was one of rage. I can't really publish what I said then.

Then it was at home, on the table, waiting for me to sit down and eat my dinner. I was on alert by this point and snatched it up, screaming "DAVE HIDE THIS THING IT'S UGLY AND I WANT IT GONE." And when I scream, you know it's bad. I'm telling you. Uuuh-gly.

I don't know where it is now. But I will sleep with one I open tonight. No one is safe until that thing is promptly delivered to one of Dave's other siblings. Even if I have to take it there myself.