My behavior and some of the things I do are completely unacceptable. But I realized that if I were pregnant, I would have the perfect explanation for my ridiculous antics. The fact that I scheduled my entire weekend around getting a giant cinnamon roll would be understandable. I would also have a legitimate reason for the times when I go to the grocery to buy one thing: a cake that serves twelve people. I wouldn't have to make up excuses when I run into people I know like "It's my nephew's birthday" or "I run an underground cake delivery service." No one would ask me any questions about getting out of bed at 3 p.m. No one would laugh at me because I cried during an episode of "Growing up Giraffe" or threw a temper tantrum because the plastic wrap I was wrapping my sandwich with got stuck to itself.
It's really too bad that I hate babies so much.
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1 comment:
Was it at least Cakeday? I watched that giraffe show once, but I decided they were making fun of how tall I am. So they can go fuck themselves.
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