There are things that no one tells you before the double-pink line shows up:
- you can’t have california rolls (and really, to be safe, should give up most fish, since toxic mercury levels are a concern – but you should be getting those fatty acids, so fucked if i know how, except for from fortified eggs – eggs make me vomit);
- deoderant can make you projectile vomit (i prefer to stink. don’t notice if it’s been 4 days since my last shower, anyways, when…see #4);
- it’s actually 10 months, if you consider that the avg. gestation period is 38-40 weeks (the same as for an elephant);
- you may have to go crazy (and not necessarily slowly, or, 6-5-4-3-2-1switch!), even if you did just find the rightest, so far, cock(yeah, i said it)tail (whoever came up with that word totally made it dirty, on purpose, just so that they could laugh everytime some sad fucker out there said it outloud) of meds, and it took you 7 years to do so.
- you can’t get tattoos or piercings (well, no one reputable will service you) cuz you could pass a minute infection onto the alien (i mean fetus).
Number 4 pisses me off, like nothing ever. It’s more up there than the time that I had to take a bandaid off my forearm (if you really really know me, you know that my forearms are hairy as hell, though blonde-ly fuzzed) and i wimped out after crying while trying to ease it off and instead left it on forever, until it fell off… i think in the bath.
To interject some melodrama: this is probably my last festivas with my dad. and for it, i really wanted to get that “i’m a daddy’s girl, but not in a princess kind of way, more like i’m so happy for everything that he’s ever taught me and i’m proud to have him as my dad” kind of a thing done. he’s not into body art, didn’t even want me to get my ears pierced when i turned 13, but i had told him about it, and he got a little misty, when i explained why i would EVER consider putting something permanent on my body, like that…’nuff said.
