Photogenic royalty evokes grandiose narrative after night terrors.

My wife and I have been posting a secret message to social media for the last several weeks, but to make it easier for everyone to get the message, and for the sake of having one place to point to when people ask if it’s true, here you go:

If that’s not obvious for you, then click here.

If you’re too lazy to translate, though, then I suppose you can just keep reading.






Keep scrolling, it’s further down.






It spells “pregnant”.

As in, we are. Well, Autumn is. But I’m the one that has to do all the work for the next six months, so I’m going to double-down on that “we”. She just has to grow a baby. I have to feed her and bring her things and bathe her and all that.

Well, maybe not bathe.


Anyway, that’s our news. It’s a thing. If you care about that sort of thing, you can wish her congratulations. I am accepting donations for my therapy bill. Whiskey in lieu of cash is doubly appreciated.

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