Oct 23 2007
You’ll be glad to know…
… I’m not pregnant.
I am, however, too fucking old to be having these pregnancy scares.
What I know for certain is this: I am mentally done with having kids. No more. Not even an inkling of a hope of a wish that this would have ended up with a big fat positive.
Well, honestly, there was a teeny tiny inkling of a hope of a wish but I duct-taped her mouth shut and chained her to the furnace located down near my hippo-campus. She will not be released until well after menopause.
I couldn’t understand her clearly but I think, from behind the duct tape, she was trying to say HAZEL LISETTE, HAZEL LISETTE.
I told her to shut the fuck up. Irresponsible fornicating sluts don’t get a vote. (But? If it was a girl, she would have been named Hazel Lisette).
But alas, it was not to be. THANK GOD (in whom I don’t even believe but I’m hedging here a little and giving him some thanks anyway!)
The home pregnancy test industry has gotten my last sixteen dollars and ninety nine cents. I wonder how much I have given them over the years… let’s see, let’s add up all the times I didn’t want to be pregnant and was worried that I was (tappity, tap, tap, tap) and add to that all the times I wanted to be pregnant and ended up not being so (tappity, tap, tap, tap) and then the times I wanted to be pregnant and ended up I was (tap, tap, tap) (what, you were expecting five taps there maybe?) Holy shit, I probably could put one of them through Harvard for what I have spent in home pregnancy tests.
Really, I’m quite done with the whole uterine system. I’m thinking of getting rid of it via an ad on Craig’s List. What? You think that’s a bad idea? Perhaps Freecycle is a better forum for old over-used uteruses (uterii?)?
We have agreed a plan for permanent birth control. But we haven’t yet actioned that plan. I would have, I swear, but I have no penis so I can’t quite carry the plan to completion and I’m dependent upon another party who promises and yet hasn’t done anything. I’m thinking of implementing a new policy that indicates sexual activity will not be possible for fourteen days prior to and fourteen days subsequent to ovulation. Maybe that will do it. It seems the safest bet.
So I’m happy. Well, crabby and bloaty and hungry and happy and thankful. And as long as you-know-who doesn’t find her way out of the duct tape, everything will stay peachy.
This I promise you: NEVER AGAIN. (Someone tell my husband, okay?)
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