How to Buy a Pregnancy Test
Wake up with a mild hangover. Realize that you haven’t had your period in a month and…one week? Two weeks? Fail to remember exactly when. (You know you’re supposed to keep calendars of these things but really, who does that?) Panic. Take a few deep breaths. Recall that hazy, gin-soaked night you spent with that-dude-you-are-sorta-seeing-but-neither-of-you-wants-to-commit-to-anything a few weeks back. Realize that you can’t remember it clearly enough to know how safe you were. Panic again.
Make coffee. Spill it all over your kitchen counter. Show up at work late, blame it on the bus, and spend most of your workday Googling pregnancy symptoms.
Get home after work and walk to the nearest drugstore. Imagine bringing up the pregnancy test to your favourite cute androgynous cashier who likes to complement your nail polish purchases. Walk several blocks to the next nearest drugstore.
Scan the vicinity for anyone you know and wish you had worn some creative disguise, like those dumb glasses you wore in 11th grade and inexplicably still keep in your dresser. Find the “Family Planning” aisle and stare blankly at the array of options before you as your mind fills with questions: Do you need the early test? Is the generic brand less effective? Do people actually throw down fifty bucks on ‘ovulation testing kits’? Grab the cheapest 2-pack and hurry to the cashier.
Lament the ten person line-up. Observe a run in your tights and wonder if it makes you look like a cheap whore. Tell yourself to stop giving a fuck, since who cares if you’re getting laid? Still feel awkward. Thrust a twenty at the cashier while avoiding eye contact, shove the test in your purse, and leave the drugstore like you’re running from an explosion in a bad movie.
Smoke two cigarettes on your way home. Feel guilty about this. Begin to imagine what you would do if you were pregnant. Realize that despite ardently defending a woman’s right to choose your entire life, you’re unsure if you could actually go through with an abortion. Imagine you and your vague love interest overcoming all your combined phobias, uncertainties, and drug habits to raise your beautiful love child in an idyllic home of organic vegan food, intellectual discussion and no TV. Pick a ridiculous baby name, like Marius or Cordelia.
Get home to your filthy apartment, heat up some ramen for dinner, and realize that despite being well into your 20s you have all the adult life skills of an average teenager. You aren’t parent material. Reflect upon the coke and alcohol consumption of the potential father: neither is he. Panic. Think about abortions again. Feel guilty. Panic some more.
Open the package and realize you have to wait until morning. Panic again. Force yourself to go to bed and sleep fitfully, dreaming about giving birth to the baby from Eraserhead.
Become immensely relieved the next morning upon peeing on the stick and seeing the little blue minus sign. Take 5 more tests over the next week until you actually get your period. Express your joy by hugging your friends and giving change to hobos.
Vow to learn from the experience and to never again have awkward, over-emotional sex while too drunk to fully remember it afterwards. Don’t actually do this.
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