This is not the first --or last time-- I will read a story about a broad who claims she didn't know she was pregnant before she burps out a baby during a doctor visit for a stomach ache.
And I just don't buy it.
I.
Don't.
Buy.
It.
As a brown-eyed virgin, I've never been pregnant to my knowledge--barring some sort of immaculate magic, of course--but I would certainly like to think that I would know if I were. When I was in high school some friends and I worked at an ice cream parlor where the owner/manager dinged up his 19-year old girlfriend and she played the same "Oh, I'm just fat" card until her parents threatened her with Weight Watchers or liposuction or some crap. And then suddenly Baby Sheila arrived and everyone was supposed to act surprised. Surprise!
Clearly if we had better sex education or more access to a woman's right to choose we wouldn't have as many of these "surprises." I'm willing to bet Baby Shiela has a pretty crappy life. Her mother labeled all the industrial sized jars of condiments with a fat Sharpie:
Musturd.
Mannaise.
Rellish.
Ketchup.
She got ketchup right.
6 comments:
Surprise!
She got ketchup right, but she wrote it on the vinniger container.
Let's see, there were probably a few helpful clues: no period for 9 months, a protrusion the exact shape of a little foot in her belly from time to time. You know, little things like that.
she's a liar liar cooch on fire
Oh no, pregnant AND a cooch on fire? Hey, wasn't that a Denzel Washington movie?
Y'all put some crazy crap on yer ice cream.
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