As if life weren’t complex and confusing enough, someone just now told me that there’s a correct way a contraceptive should be worn. Fuck. I suppose the directions in that little box of vegan condoms were meant to be read; although despite any prompting from me, his masculine ego definitely knew the application process much better than I. Now, here I am three months down the road and he’s nowhere to be seen, and since I haven’t really told anyone about this sexy, moan inducing, sheet soaking, lip biting and giggle-worthy mishap of mine (until now), I’ve gotten multiple remarks from my adorable, yet always brazenly honest Grandmother who says my cheeks are about as swollen as a chipmunks in the fall. As if that wasn’t worthy of a mega-sigh, she has to lay me in a virtual grave of sorrow by telling me I had best lay off of the pancakes and chocolate bars, but then consoles my overweight woes by making the most rockin’ French toast this side of Seattle. Let’s just hope I can keep it down on the drive home, as I’ve had to pull over on several occasions to throw up on a side of the road like some poor, purple-haired, not-so-drunk, drunk girl who knows how to handle a stick shift, if you know what I mean. (wink)
Yes, yes, first world problems of a middle class white girl might sound like nothing, but I’m really itchin’ to go back in time and turn that latex right-side-out. Honestly, you try being in your twenties with an appetite like an elephant, and having to remember people’s food orders at work despite having brain fog thicker than Hilary Clinton’s ankles. Did I mention that I’ve never eaten so much Thai food in my life? I’m certain that my friends know I’m coming from five miles down the road by the scent of lemongrass that exudes from my pores. In fact just the other day I was making cupcakes at my dear friend Ty’s house, and there I was elbow deep in chocolate-mint cake batter and Alicia walks in, stops, sniffs the air and says, “are you making some funky new cupcake? It smells like thai food in here.” I’ll never live that one down. I’m sure you’re wondering why I haven’t serenaded anyone with my lil’ pregnancy diddy? Better yet why haven’t they noticed? Are even my beloved, intellectually intuitive cohorts blind to my soon-to-be screaming joy, even though only three short months ago I could fit my ass into a size eight pant and two of us could sit cuddled in the bean bag chair together? Maybe my friends aren’t as well off as I once thought…
Neon Observatory 