Besieged

By the time Sandy got to five sons, Joan was dumfounded.
     “Were you trying for a girl?”
     “We would have stopped at two, but I kept getting pregnant.”
     “Why didn’t you go on the pill?
     “That was little Jason.”
     “Vascectomy?”
     “That was Tyler.”
     Sandy looked miserable as several of her offspring erupted into the kitchen. Within seconds the place was awash in spills, crumbs and grubby hand prints. Once fed and watered the horde moved on to wreak destruction in another part of the house.
     “We’re double protected now—both Barry and I had ourselves fixed,” said Sandy.