She’s in there.

Who’s in there?

The egg. Nestled. I’m into my second term. 

And we’re going to axe it?

It’s illegal. I can’t afford to sail to Britain.

So what will we do?

I’m at a loss. Were I to birth a baby girl at my age I’d be ostracized from my peers, be unable to hold down any kind of part time job, forego a critical phase in my developmental psychology, neglect my studies, deny myself an independent life, be unable to travel the gravid plains of Bali, Vietnam, Jaipur, Mali, Leitrim, Roscommon, Guadalajara, Lima, Caracas, Trim, Lucan or even sail the river Shannon on a black barge. I’d be forced to claim benefits, rely heavily on my family, not to mention bear the glacial disdain of my Father and live a life behest to an infant who will be fifteen when I’m twenty nine. It’ll be domestic murder.

There’s a woman.

How do you mean?

There’s a woman I’ve read about, a woman I’ve caught wind of who operates from a barn in Co.Clare that….you know, can preserve the foetus.

I’m sorry?

Yes. I read it. She’s a sort of mystic alchemist, preserves the baby in gossamer produced in Autumn, says something in Latin, daubs the baby in a duck’s tears and you come back and collect it when you’re ready.


Twitter. I read it on Twitter. It got 47 favourites and nine retweets. There is a very burgeoning, very devoted clientele. With termination not an option, this initiative they’re coining “put the nipper in the freezer” is gaining significant traction and credible publicity. Callum Best recently froze a child with this woman.

Ok, well let’s go. I am desperate and I can feel contractions. I’ll update my status, and you be sure to take selfies of me as I enter labour.

Oh no, you don’t go full term.

Pardon me?

The baby does not exeunt through your vagina.

Excuse me, have you gone entirely insane?

Not quite. It’s an ingenious method, actually.

So how is it done?

Completely painless. You eat an organic jam sandwich and soak the excess crust in fish oil – moistening the lids of your nostrils. Once the nostrils are good and dilated there is then an incantation that the mystic, “Margaret O’Bleary”, intones. She then instructs you to exhale ferocious gusts from your fish scented nose, thirteen or fourteen times before the baby slides out unscathed. The naked foetus is then meticulously prepared for incubation with the gossamer and duck’s tears, we cook her a roast dinner and the deed is done.

That is astonishing. 

It sure is.

And there is no stipulation?

There is no stipulations other than the stipulation that the roast dinner be organic and we spend the night with Margaret.

Deal. I’ll charge my phone.

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