Bloody Pregnant

On Tuesday I had to go in and take a ($200) blood test to make sure I was pregnant. The doctor's office looked totally different when I walked in: now, all the women in the waiting room were old but I was young and fertile. When they placed a cotton swab on the needle mark, I got a glimpse of my own blood. It was extra red.

I waited and I waited and I waited for the results while sitting and not listening in meetings all day.

Finally, the doctor called. "Well," he said, "you're very pregnant!" "What does 'very pregnant' mean?" I asked as I talked over his explanation which included the phrase "...worry about twins yet..."

For a day, I freaked out. My numbers for (insert random three letters acronym representing pregnancy related hormone that all sound alike) were very high. "Come back in 5 days for another test," he had told me. Five days? In five days I will have already stress-eaten my young with worry.

But after just one sleepless night, I realized that this was actually a great idea! I could have more babies than I could handle, and I would just ask for the generous help of the american public to support the children. Without even asking, I was sure that all baby-related product manufacturers would spontaneously send me free wares. Yes! This was genius. I can't believe someone else didn't think if it sooner. It was nearly a full-proof plan.

Prepared to assist with any refugee relief requests that might come up in my first trimester, I sat down with a home lip filler kit, and began to write my autobiography.