Friday, March 7

Oh my good Lord... where to begin?
#1 Pop Quiz: What year did you graduate from high school?
Ok... deduct points for every second of delay, double those if you've graduated within the last 10 years... triple if it's within the last 5.
Here I will point out that I asked CB this afternoon what year she graduated from North, and it took her over a full minute to respond with "Ummm...nine..teen... uh... umm.... yeah... ninety.... er...uh...nine, I think" and Miss CB ends up with another tally in the loss column.
#2 And the bombshell (and by bombshell, I mean, take shelter, this will hurt) of the day is: she's pregnant. Going to have a baby. With child. Bun in the oven. Her husband's convinced it's twins.
We were evidently having some kind of race towards pregnancy, of which I was unaware, because she told me as we were leaving tonight, "I was sure you were going to beat me" - now she didn't mean it in the way that a) yes, I would very much like to give her an Oshkosh pound-downding or b) I was ready to leave before her for the day, which is a huge break from the norm, but as it turns out she beat me to the door. She meant, boy, I was sure you were going to be pregnant before I got pregnant cuz everyone wants to be pregnant and since you're older you must have been trying for a long time now and what's wrong with you why aren't you pregnant. And then she actually said, literally, I shit you all not, "I was just convinced you were going to get pregnant first, or while I was, so then we'd have to share our pregnancies." Ok... just... stop talking. Cuz I really shouldn't hit a pregnant girl. Or push one out in front of that convenient speeding truck. Luckily the art thieves arrived just in time to save me from myself.
I need to go breath into a paper bag now. See y'all later at the P.


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