Eggs

Most women my age are getting to the point where they’re concerned about their eggs.  I’m not sure what it is about female thirty-somethings and eggs but most of the women I know are obsessed with them.  I’ve never put a lot of thought into my eggs.  Mostly the mentioning of them, by other women, just makes me feel bad that I’ve not pondered eggs at all…unless they’re in omelet form…which I think about a lot…because omelets are delicious.  Anyway, what I’m driving at here are children and the possibility of one crawling its way out of my vagina in the future.  Seeing as I’m a thirty-something, it’s probably time for me to figure this out.

I love babies.  Wait…that came out wrong.  What I meant to say is that babies terrify me.  Nope, also inaccurate.  Herein lies my problem.  I don’t know anything about babies.  People seem to have them a lot – I see the pictures on Facebook.  Listen, I’m not trying to be a baby racist or anything but all those mother fuckers look the same.  I’m starting to get concerned because I thought I’d have baby-feelings by now.  Also, from what I understand, babies typically follow a marriage and I’m not having marriage-feelings either.  Instead of being depressed because I’m not married and I’m not filled with baby, I’m depressed because my indifference to such matters makes me feel like less of a woman.

You may be familiar with the American Dream.  Typically it consists of a house, a husband and children.  This all seems lovely, but as of right now my biggest goals are to figure out what Gluten is and to not get holes in my pants.  These goals may not seem particularly lofty to you but I assure you, they’re taking up all of my time.  Today by about noon I was experiencing high self-esteem based on the fact that I didn’t have any holes in my pants.  Moments later, I went to smoke a cig only to realize my pants were see-through.  I CAN’T WIN!  Based on this information, it seems unlikely that a) anyone other than the homeless vagrants downtown would want to marry me and b) I have any of the necessary tools to keep another human being alive.

A friend sent me a plant recently – I killed it.  I haven’t had toilet paper in my apartment for several months.  I view walking without falling down to be a challenge.  Do you believe in God?  I believe he exists but that he is trying to kill me.  With all of these quandaries to sift through, I haven’t had time to mourn my loss of eggs – and lost they are.  I can’t keep a pair of sunglasses for more than three weeks.  God only knows where the fuck my eggs have managed to run off to. 

My point here is that I’m going to try harder to want babies.  My lack of concern surrounding this issue is alienating me from other women – that and my propensity for banging other people’s significant others (Sorry girls!).  I am a woman God damnit!  I should want a baby!  What better way to right all the terrible wrongs I’ve experienced in my life.  My baby is going to be the shit!  My baby will fit into pants!  My baby will be responsible!  My baby will live in an apartment that has rooms!  My baby won’t drive a car manufactured by a company that also makes toasters!  My baby won’t have road rage!  My baby won’t kill plants!  MY BABY WILL BE THE QUARTERBACK FOR THE CHICAGO BEARS!!!!!!!!  Shit…my baby isn’t going to like me at all.