Shake n' Bake

The second time I took a pregnancy test in my life was in the public bathroom at a HyVee in Des Moines, Iowa.

Actually, it was a group activity. I made my campaign fellow, Lisa Bonet, take one with me because if you find out you've gotten pregnant by a man ten years younger than you while working a job where cargo shorts are not only a fashion statement but a way of life, you want a reminder that life could be worse. I could be 23.

We were looking for fortifying vitamins because my hair had started falling out. Naturally, at no point did I attribute this to the doubled up dose of birth control I had begun to consume or even to the nightly ritual of drinking that looked less like "Animal House" and more like the last scene of "The Deer Hunter." Nah, bro, it's this campaign. It's wicked intense!

I headed straight for the "dollar deals" rack. There was no way I was going to pay $13 for a bottle of something that didn't stand a chance of giving me a nice buzz. As I was trying to figure out why this was likely the largest selection of multivitamins I'd ever seen, but God forbid each type of corn isn't carefully segregated out by type, size, color, and cup size, I caught a glimpse of why I was really there. To take a $1 pregnancy test in a dirty bathroom.

It was my density.

I mean.. My destiny.

Long way to go for a "Back to the Future" joke, but if you think it's so easy, why don't you give it a try, hot shot?

All other objectives got cast to the winds in the face of this discovery. I told Lisa that it could be a really fun story of how we took $1 pregnancy tests in the bathroom at Hy-Vee and how we weren't pregnant at all, ahahahaha! Aren't we irreverent?!!

- What if we're pregnant?
- It can be a really fun story of how you once kicked me down a flight of stairs. Hahaha! Aren't we spontaneous?!!
- *crickets*
- Dude, just get in the damn bathroom..

We get in there, and of course it's one of those performance anxiety things where the one time you need your bladder to do you a solid, it gets all, "Nah, I'd prefer to let you Liz on yourself a little right in the middle of the second chorus of 'Living On a Prayer' at a bar down the shore while you're trying to take some dude home but subsequently have to pretend that your friend has alcohol poisoning and go home without him, but really you didn't want to risk him putting his hand down your pants on the car ride home only to come back up with a fist full of Eau de Nursing Home because, man, I just had to do me!" says my bladder. Or something like that..

- I can't go
- Raven, even you can't fuck this up. All the stick needs is a few drops, just shake it out.
- Shake.. ok just shake. Like jump up and down or.. what? Wait, like.. can I dance?
- What the fuck are you talking about?
- I really don't know
- Dude, just move your hips and relax, man..
- Ok.    ....   So both at the same time? Move my hips and relax? Becau-- Ohhhh there it goes....
aaahhhhh... Ok yeah.. I think I just needed to talk it out. You know, I think that sort of relieves tension and to be honest with you --
- Yeah congratulations, there's a tampon on the ceiling so I'm getting out of here. See you outside.

--

We got back in the car and headed back to the office.  A James Taylor song came on. As I sang along and pulled an over-exaggerated smiling face, Lisa said, "You're going to be a good mom."

- Huh. Well not today..
- For real. You feed me and buy me pregnancy tests. I mean, that's some white mom shit right there.
- That'll do, Donkey. That'll do.

And Lisa never had to kick me down the stairs.

The End.