There I was, desperately locking and re-locking the bathroom door in the back of a Subway sandwich shop, panicking that I might be heard, or maybe the Catholic in me felt the location was just morally wrong for that sort of thing, but I didn’t give a shit. The time was nigh, now or never, or at least now-sooner-than-later, as fate might have it anyhow, so I was doin’ it.
I tore the pregnancy test open, pulled out the stupid stick, lowered my pants and panties, and peed on that thingy, with my Chicken Caesar sub a couple feet away in that plastic bag, mocking my efforts.
Three loooonng minutes later, I learned I wasn’t pregnant. So, naturally, I did another test. A second opinion on some matters is the only way to go.
Yes! Again, no bun in the oven! No baby on the way! No mini-me! No eternal hellfire for my still-too-Catholic soul! (That is, if I didn’t count the pre-marital sex I’d been enjoying again of late).
I exited that dingy bathroom to find a line-up of three people glowering at me for my eight-minute visit to the only washroom for the whole joint. I shrugged, “Hey, it was labourious”, and shuffled obliviously to a booth nearby.
I swear, I’ve never had a better Chicken Caesar sub in my life.
That’s actually the only time I’ve ever been noticeably “late” for a period, since I’m the irregular type anyhow, so I’ve never done a “home” pregnancy test since. There’s been a couple morning-after pills, but that’s another story.
But I don’t get this whole Hollywood thing, how any woman who buys a preggers test has the wherewithal to finish her shopping, walk around the block, get home, and then do it in the sanctity of her own bathroom. Like that’s the only place a “home” pregnancy test works.
Hey, when there’s the potentiality of being knocked up, some of us are consumed by the TELL ME NOW, MOTHERFUCKER urge to, you know, cross the fucking street and go into the first cafe or fast-food joint with a private door-locking bathroom to do the three-minute test then and there, and ease our mind.
Or maybe I’m alone in the universe, but I really don’t think so, even if patience certainly ain’t my strong suit.
So, consider this a fun-filled not-so-scientific study in which you can help me shatter yet another myth out there.
Where have you taken your pregnancy tests? C’mon, most of us have done one. Was it at home? Work? A friend’s? What was the outcome? How’d you deal?
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