(no subject)
Rodney was doing research.
Normally, he would have done so in the lab or sequestered in his hut, but it wasn't research on Michael's computers - he'd put that to bed ages ago - or research on the island and its wacky ways. Not quite. The research he was doing now necessitated his presence in the rec room, where he sat in a chair pulled up next to the bookshelf, his laptop balanced on his knees and a pile of books teetering precariously on the arm of the chair.
He reached for the one on the top of the pile and flipped it open, scanning down the index. When he found something interesting, he'd flip to the relevant page, typing one-handed as he read.
He'd accrued a sizeable database of notes so far, and none of it was particularly heartening. In fact, he was beginning to form a troubling hypothesis, and that was that it was going to be extremely difficult to be a father.
Sighing, he shut Be Prepared: A Practical Handbook for New Dads and reached for the next book, which was titled Fatherhood. He only noticed just then, upon examination of the front cover, that it appeared to have been authored by Bill Cosby.
"Seriously?" he asked it, and snorted. "I don't think so." He put it on the pile of books by his feet, the ones he'd already gone through or discarded in disgust.
The next one looked more promising. It was called What to Expect When Your Wife is Expanding: A Reassuring Month-by-Month Guide for the Father-to-Be, Whether He Wants Advice or Not. "Oh, I do want advice," he muttered to himself, "but I'd prefer if it was helpful, thank you very much, and telling me that my w- girlfriend is expanding seems to fall heavily in the realm of the obvious, don't you think?" He grumbled under his breath. Most of these books seemed to have been written for the lowest common denominator, men who couldn't figure out how to change a diaper if their lives depended on it.
Rodney probably could. If his life depended on it. The situation would have to be pretty dire, anyways.
Oh well. He had seven-ish months to prepare for that eventuality, thank God.
[Good time to meet him; parents especially welcome! ST/LT both fine.]
Normally, he would have done so in the lab or sequestered in his hut, but it wasn't research on Michael's computers - he'd put that to bed ages ago - or research on the island and its wacky ways. Not quite. The research he was doing now necessitated his presence in the rec room, where he sat in a chair pulled up next to the bookshelf, his laptop balanced on his knees and a pile of books teetering precariously on the arm of the chair.
He reached for the one on the top of the pile and flipped it open, scanning down the index. When he found something interesting, he'd flip to the relevant page, typing one-handed as he read.
He'd accrued a sizeable database of notes so far, and none of it was particularly heartening. In fact, he was beginning to form a troubling hypothesis, and that was that it was going to be extremely difficult to be a father.
Sighing, he shut Be Prepared: A Practical Handbook for New Dads and reached for the next book, which was titled Fatherhood. He only noticed just then, upon examination of the front cover, that it appeared to have been authored by Bill Cosby.
"Seriously?" he asked it, and snorted. "I don't think so." He put it on the pile of books by his feet, the ones he'd already gone through or discarded in disgust.
The next one looked more promising. It was called What to Expect When Your Wife is Expanding: A Reassuring Month-by-Month Guide for the Father-to-Be, Whether He Wants Advice or Not. "Oh, I do want advice," he muttered to himself, "but I'd prefer if it was helpful, thank you very much, and telling me that my w- girlfriend is expanding seems to fall heavily in the realm of the obvious, don't you think?" He grumbled under his breath. Most of these books seemed to have been written for the lowest common denominator, men who couldn't figure out how to change a diaper if their lives depended on it.
Rodney probably could. If his life depended on it. The situation would have to be pretty dire, anyways.
Oh well. He had seven-ish months to prepare for that eventuality, thank God.
[Good time to meet him; parents especially welcome! ST/LT both fine.]