This Is Only A Test...

It's been a loooooong time since I've felt it necessary to pee on a stick. Especially since anything requiring me to do so would basically be the result of a miracle.

But, as they say, miracles do happen, and my doctor reminds me with EVERY annual visit, "You know, it is still possible to get pregnant after a vasectomy. Just so you're aware." I've always held that possibility up there with time-ending meteor strikes and finding a unicorn.

So, despite my confidence that the factory is out of business, I recently had a panic attack when my 'monthly visitor' decided not to stop by after all. I gave it adequate time to get here, but it didn't even call to say it would be late, much less give me a heads-up that it was going to stand me up completely.

Needless to say, I have spent the past several nights staring at the ceiling fan 'Clockwork Orange'-style, stiff as a steel beam.

You know how it is - after a few days, you start becoming skeptical, despite all reason. Then you casually bring it up to the person potentially responsible for this situation. He responds, "You're probably not, but if you're worried, we'll take a test in a few days." Nothing happens by the next morning. You can't wait a few days - you're ready for a test NOW.

He thinks you're silly, but he just-has-no-idea.

Next thing you know, you're divining your future from a stream of pee.

I decided today that I was ready for the test, silly or not. Going on two weeks is enough convincing for me. Besides, I have plans tonight and didn't want them to be ruined with this preoccupation.

So I load the kids into the car, because it is time for the moment of truth. They protest vehemenently about having to 'run errands', but that is just too flippin' bad. I harrass them until they are shod and buckled, shut the doors, and...the car won't start.

Crap.

I call Jim, who dashes home between meetings to jump me off (how this problem started). Car's finally going, and I herd the kids BACK into the car, still complaining. Off to the drugstore we go.

By the time we reach our destination, the kids are totally sacked out.

Double crap.

Do I leave them in the car? Wake them up, screaming and falling out all over the place? I just need the damned stick, nothing more!!!! Why, oh, why can't this be a simple thing?

My oldest, nine, wakes up. "Honey, you're in charge for five minutes." I lock the car and run.

Please don't tell anyone.

I love how in drugstores, people basically adhere to an unspoken 'don't ask-don't tell' policy.
Few things impersonal can be bought in a drugstore, so it's best just not to make eye contact. Of course, I pick the day before Valentine's Day to go, so I see not only several men I know in there buying cards and candy, but also a former student and two parents from my kids' school. This is great!

I look for the overhead sign that says 'Family Planning' and rush over with the pace of a middle-aged mall-walker. No time for price-comparison shopping; I grab a box that says PREGNANCY TEST, hold it so discretely that I'm sure I'll be picked up for shoplifting, and jump into a line...that's as long as I-95.

Triple crap.

I'm stuck in line behind four men with Valentine's cards. Selfish bastards.

I'm trying to smile politely to people without making said eye contact, like I'm in a porn shop, until I feel - I swear - someone TICKLING ME FROM BEHIND. Say what????

I spin around only to see our State Senator.

Quadruple crap.

"Hey, thar, Girl! Whatchoo doin' in har today???"

"Uhhhhh... Look! Over there! Teddy Bears!"

(I go for the art of distraction)

And guess what? He looks! There may be a reason he wasn't re-elected...

Anyway, it's finally my turn, and they have to do a FLIPPIN' PRICE CHECK!!!

Nah, I'm just kidding! I buy the damned thing, wave to our ousted senator, and refrain from taking the test in the parking lot.

After rushing home like Mach 3, I leave the kids, still sleeping in the car, and pee on that thing like I'm doing it to save all of humanity.

And my efforts are rewarded.

That's a negative, Ghostrider.

So the good news here is that I'm just getting old.

Quintuple crap.