I’m one of the blind alleys off the main road of procreation.
Christine realized she was pregnant in late March of last year. Two mornings of vomiting and a pregnancy test taken over her lunch break confirmed it. She thought she could already feel the intruder glacially eroding her uterus. The tube looked like a cheap toothbrush, and she’d kept it under her counter at Kaki-Dans. She kept pulling it out every two minutes to confirm the two purple lines on the end. Positive. She’d turned twenty-one three weeks ago. There wouldn’t be many legal consequences for the drunkenness, but manslaughter by alcohol-induced miscarriage might be harder to pull off. She’d probably just end up with a retard, even dumber than James. [Read more…]