On buying a pee stick or three at the Dollar Store

I parked next to the Dollar Store in the less-densely packed parking area because I like 90 degree angles and the other spots had those 45 degree angled spots that you need a protractor in order to fit properly. Don’t look at me like that.

In the process, I learned that the shady area next to the Dollar Store is also the official make-out spot of my municipality.

Ironic since that’s the kind of trouble that probably got me into this mess.

Ohhh ho ho ho. I kid.

C’mon. A Dollar Store parking lot? We are more caviar than that.

We are Publix kind of people.

Anyway. Of course I was going to the Dollar Store to buy the pregnancy test because even though there are goalies in place, you can never be too sure. You would think someone who cares so much about 90 degree angles would probably have spreadsheets of her menstrual cycle (stop gagging and grow up or I’ll put you in a binder full of women) but I work in a place among some 650 uteri. Every month is a new adventure with new ovarian tales to tell. Also, it is well-documented that you can still get a false positive if you are one of the very lucky, which I am.

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I later regaled my husband with this, the evidence of heavy petting in cars outside the store that sells the oft-desired Wet n’ Wild nail polish and syrupy bottles marked simply Cola. He wanted to know who the kids were. Really? Stay classy, hubs.

When I found myself in the aisle where the dollar preggo tests usually are (it’s almost like I’ve done this before, I know!), they were all cleared out. Because I was determined not to be like Blossom Russo buying maxi pads for the first time, I decided to ask a stock clerk if they were all out of pee sticks. That required me to say aloud the words, “Are you all out of pregnancy tests?” Ugh. Hand me some orange Tic Tacs and call me Juno. I should mention the stock clerk was wearing a scraggly beard costume, basically from the neck up with some festive head-boppers. Exactly the kind of person who just knows where everything is.

She said, “Oh, they’re at the front.”

Which to me means they are behind lock and key and you need a front desk clerk to retrieve them.

So I ask the cashier if she can help me with pregnancy tests. She wanders over to a regular ol’ shelf with all manner of impulse buys. Because you know sometimes you’re just in line buying nail polish and you think, Oh, it’d be good if I pick up some lip balm if my lips get chapped and a pregnancy test or four in case I get knocked up. Love being spontaneous! Living dangerously in the Dollar Store!!!

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She hooked me up with three tests. One to try first, one just to be sure (because for the price of a dollar, science can only get you so far. If you want an insurance policy on whether or not one test will tell you whether you have a womb squatter or not, you have to pay the big bucks). I tossed in one extra so I wouldn’t have to go through this ordeal again. Like, next month.

The front cashier was also in costume, wearing pink spangles from head to toe. She explained it was in support of her auntie who had passed away from cancer. So now she knew something about me and I knew something about her. The transaction was already taking place with no dollars even exchanged! Ah, poetry of life.

As she was bagging up my items another family was approaching the cashier so Pink Spangles said, super on the down-low, “Did you need anything else besides WHAT I HELPED YOU FIND?”

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Ummmm. I don’t know what she wanted me to say. How about a can opener, and while you’re at it, maybe some Botox and is this also the place where I can vote early and often?

Speaking of votes, the results of the pregnancy test were negative but the outlook is positive for keeping my supply of tests well-stocked.

 

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That time I tried to perfect the smoky eye and raged at Adele

Was going to a mom party where we get all glitzed out and fight over cookbooks. Thank you, girlfrann Joy.

So of course I decided to bust out the smoky eye. And by that I mean I took 40 minutes total to research smoky eye shadow on Pinterest using my particular eye shadow palette, tailored to my particular eye color. Then another 20 to follow along and another 20 to correct my mistakes so that I didn’t look like a wax figure in Madame Tussauds. Thanks all-girls high school, thanks for skipping over that whole chapter where you’re supposed to master eyeliner applications that don’t look like electrocardiograms on the ol’ eyelid. Memorizing the epilogue to the Tales of Canterbury was clutch, though.  You just can’t imagine how often I quote Chaucer on the daily, while applying eye primer.

After I finally got the special effects where I wanted ’em, I snapchatted smoky eye game on fleek because social media rules.

Drove to mom party. En route, Adele’s new song “When We Were Young” cues on FM dial and let me state for the record that that song is a nuclear weapon. One moment, you’re just riding in the car to your mom party looking shnazz and the next moment, Adele is hefting onto your lap all the anguish and catharses that everyone who has ever fell in love has ever experienced including all the characters alive and dead on Grey’s Anatomy and suddenly the 4.5 hours you spent on your eye shadow is blobbing off into rivers and snowdrifts and you are looking for the windshield wipers for your eyes because you are about to arrive to the mom party looking like you spent the last 3 nights in the poky.

And isn’t it ironic that Adele, whose smoky eye game is on a whole ‘nother level, whose eyelashes are the same ones used for centuries to paint Italian frescoes, and who sings everything with the most perfectly breathy brassy ache, just became a mother herself. Of all people, you’d think she’d be more respectful of the smoky eye perfected for the mom party. I can’t help feeling she knew I could have had it all. Instead I was rolling in the deep. Of the feels and black eyeliner.

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This was the only picture I took, screenshotted from my snapchat. Oh there’s a barfy sentence if you want.
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The gal in the foreground is my optometrist. She’s a total babe and might be single. Apply within. 
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Loved how Christa looked with her big pink prezzie. 
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Thank you for wonderful book party memories, Joy. “Calhoun Rocks!”
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Is it too late to run for President?

With the Democratic Party debate tonight, I’m wondering if it’s too late to toss my hat into the ring.
My candidacy represents a bridging of generations between Generation X, Y, Z and the digital natives. I offer a regional blend of Mid-western pronunciations, a regular bandying about of the New England modifier “wicked,” and an abiding comfort with the Southern contraction “y’all.” I was raised super Catholic but converted to Protestantism. So I’ve got a few sacraments under my belt, will happily place my hand on “a stack of Bibles,” and have plenty of Muslim, atheist, and rabbinical pals. I’m married to a Canadian-Korean, so you can trust the White House would be the raddest melting pot full of kimchi potato stew you could imagine.I’ll be running on the following platform:

– To adopt the Spanish siesta as a nationwide habit
– To eradicate the use of apostrophes when trying to pluralize words
– To retain the separation of church and state but to promote single stream recycling programs
– To promote the use of the handy can of Spray Starch you reach for when a burglar enters your home as the only legal weapon
– To enact Stevie Wonder’s birthday as a national holiday for Motown-inspired song and for just calling to say I love you.
– To require all schools to have hypoallergenic therapy dogs, especially for the teaching staff
– To enact an exorbitant tax on abusers of handicapped parking spaces and drivers who hog the passing lane while talking on their phones
– To require 300 hours of community service for anyone who mistreats school crossing guards, the elderly, the physically or mentally disabled, and the homeless
– To incentivize millennials to have face-to-face conversations
– To encourage more United States of Awesomeness

familee

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