We are meeting two friends of ours this evening.
We are going to have a bite to eat, and a few drinks.
They suggested it.
Normal behaviour, you might think?
A year ago I would have thought the same, but now, I have the nose of a bloodhound, and the overactive suspicious anxiety of an ex-bomb disposal expert being held hostage in a clock factory.
Rightly or wrongly, I must have this on record as a validation of my heightened sense of babyishness, or as a message that I need to chill out and try yoga, or mountain climbing, or cow painting, or something.
I think they are going to 'announce'.
They have had one child since we started trying, and I'm convinced they will announce that they are about to lap us.
I might feign a stroke at the dinner table. Then again, I may not need to feign, if I'm right.
So, by this time tomorrow, I'll either be distraught, depressed, yet strangely smug at my mutating sense of all matters reproductive, or I'll be distraught, depressed and a bit of a saddo.
Which will it be, I wonder?
I can't wait to find out, it's like the Pop Idol final, with my sanity and ego as finalists.