A week-by-week guide to pregnancy web page was minimized on our desktop yesterday and subsequently created a game of Clue in our living room.
We eyed each other and tried to nail down who it was, leading one sister to divulge too much information to clear her name.
My little brother led the prosecution-style questioning, which included statements like, “I can tell it was you by that little grin,” and “I know it wasn’t Holly.”
My name was exonerated rather quickly, as it always is in conversations like this, with no consideration that it might be me who needed to know my ovulation schedule and how the egg travels through conception.
Everyone had to state clearly what time they were on the computer and what they looked at. Someone suggested looking at the web history and Google searches for the day, so we got to listen to my brother rattle off recently visited web.
Naughty Monkey shoes?
He questioned the validity of that – deducing the word ‘naughty’ would’ve rendered a web page with a diagram of a woman’s reproductive system.
I assured him that was me, and that it’s a legitimate brand of shoe.
We thought my older brother did it as a joke knowing the obsessive minds in the family would feast on the possibilities, and that we’d examine each other with X-ray-like vision.
Are you pregnant? Or are you pregnant?
I suggested it was “Eddie in the library with Katie,” but he said he didn’t like to read so it definitely wasn’t him.
I said I’d probably do it in the library and no one was surprised.
Katie’s name was taken out of the hat. She’s been pregnant and therefore would know what to expect.
Another sister is never out of sight, and the other. Well, I already told you. TMI.
By the end of the night, we determined it was spam.