Selling Ralph the Buick (or, the day I thought I was pregnant)

21 Jan

Shiver me Pampers!

This is how every morning seems to go at my job lately. One minute I’m minding my own business, writing the goods page, and the next, my breakfast sticks its little oatmeal fist up my esophogus and says, “I’ve had it with you and the raisins. Every god damn day with the raisins. Go boot now or feel my oatmealy wrath!”

So then I go into the bathroom to “Sell Ralph the Buick,” as my friend the ha-Canadian euphemistically calls it, and nothing happens. Come noon, it’s as if my stomach had never been upset at all. “Who, ME??” says my stomach, but then it mumbles, “drop it or the small intestine gets it” under its breath. But I’m on to you, stomach; I’ve noticed your little pattern, making me sick every morning. Lots of times in the morning I feel sick.  I get sick in the mornings. I have morning sickn…Ruh Roh.

I think the first stage of thinking you’re pregnant before you’re ready is denial, so I immediately convinced myself of a ludicrous theory in which I had missed a couple of birth control pills last month, which resulted in my hormones getting upset that they were not being fed, and then turning into gremlins and heading to the gremlin boss in my stomach to organize a hit on my sanity.

This makes perfect sense to the kind of person who had a mini panic attack on saturday because the cats were wheezing and holding one eye closed like little asthmatic cat pirates. As much fun as it would be to have permanent cat pirates, I’d be an irresponsible person if I didn’t take them to the vet and spend $300 I don’t have so I could put goo in their eyes while they maniacally claw my arms. So I took them to the vet, and then I came home and imagined the pirate cats were kids. And then I imagined dropping everything to spend $300 to put goo on my kids for 18 years… and then spending $200,000 so they could go put goo on themselves and each other. And then I panicked.

That ludicrous theory sounds pretty good now, don’t it?

By the time I was waiting the requisite two minutes for my test results, I had remembered that my mom was so scared of me getting pregnant before I had a diploma, she compared high school to “the champagne room” in that song, “No Sex in the Champagne Room,” which will gross me out in perpetuity. I’d also already blamed my nausea on a bad batch of Fresca, taking too many dance classes and even existential dissatisfaction (hey, it happens in Sartre novels).

Finally I took the test and was pacing around the living room, peering into the little pink window of doom every five seconds until….

It gave me a

Only then did I realize I just changed birth control pills and have been drinking an inordinant amount of whiskey lately…

It turns out the pirate cats have feline eye herpes. But hey, at least nobody’s having pirate kittens. Or pirate babies. Actually, pirate babies don’t sound so bad…. *rubs cat on boyfriend’s eye*

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