Classic Donna G

Warning: Noncreators, you may want to stay away from this short post. Either you won't understand it (which makes it a complete waste of time to read) or you will understand it (which makes it a completely horrifying thing to read.)

(On the other hand, Procreators, you may want to stay away as well. Unless you enjoy reliving the more macabre moments of the miracle of life. If that's the case, read on.)

My parents have an old family friend I will call Donna G. The reason I am calling her Donna G and not by her full name will become clear in about 45 seconds. Every Fourth of July my mom and dad get together with Donna G, Mr. Donna G, and my aunt and uncle for a rousing evening of dinner, story swapping, and fireworks. They love bragging that they stayed out past ten on a weeknight. I love hearing the post-game recap, since every Independence Day includes a moment when Donna G shares an anecdote so shockingly unfiltered that it triggers a reaction stronger than any Roman candle explosion. 2012 was no exception:

While my mom was forcing everyone to coo over pictures of her favorite two-month-old granddaughter, Donna G asked how the delivery and labor went. My mom said it went just fine.

Donna G: "Did your daughter say anything weird? You know how it is, how you kind of say things that you would normally never say? In fact, I said when that doctor was stitching me up, 'What are you doing, embroidering your NAME down there?' "

And now that is something that you can never un-know.

Classic Donna G. Pure, unadulterated shock and awe.