First off, I was bereft. How could Mary have deceived me? I always thought she was satisfied. I can’t tell you how many all-nighters I pulled, staying up late, reading Masters and Johnson, the skills I’d conquered for her pleasure. What about the G-spot, Mary? She always moans when I find it. Now I have to wonder. Was she faking it? As for that bun in the oven... Who’s responsible? When Mary said God, I laughed. That’s who you’re laying this on? What blasphemy is that! I’m a Jew! A pious one! Surely she could come up with something better than God. Still, I have to admit, Mary has a wild imagination. Covering up a peccadillo with a wild goose tale. Who does she think she’s fooling? Curious, I follow her out to the manger, where the tiny tot’s cradled in a bed made of straw, a blanket tucked neatly around his body. He’s cute, looks a lot like Mary’s dad.
It’s a miracle, Mary says. And the kid’s gonna save us all.
