I was standing in line at my local Rite-Aid pharmacy the other day buying some none-of-your-business, and I became very concerned about life in general. I’m not sure why my local pharmacy is so ghetto, but it’s a reminder that I’m definitely not living the dream yet. There was a man who tried cutting to the front of the line, his confusion most likely from the gaping hole in his face and dried blood on his cheek. Two people in front of me was a woman with a good five pounds of fake hair clipped to her limp little ponytail of mismatched blonde. Pushing past me to get to the daily labeled pill boxes was a full blown registered sex offender. I just knew, that’s how I know. There was an old lady impatiently standing a few feet behind me and I could smell her before I actually turned around to see who farted. The whole experience was very traumatizing for an innocent little blogger like myself.
Just as I was getting ready to ditch the line, give up, and go home before I got AIDS standing there, this little kid popped his head out above the aisle next to us. Like up top over the shelf and peaked over at us. He was a dirty little kid who looked like he smelled bad and of course he was creeping up on his smelly grandmother who was in line behind me.They started speaking Russian to each other. Typical. Just kidding, I don’t even really know anything about Russians. Except that they clearly smell bad. And drink vodka in big freezer rooms. And wear tall hats.
Anyway, I was like, whoa I hate this kid. He was standing on the shelf and knocking over Advil bottles left and right. I really didn’t like his energy. Now, I’m not one to jump to conclusions, especially in writing where I can never take it back, but I’m pretty sure this kid was evil. Like, if I was bleeding out in this line from a gunshot wound, I feel like he would go grab some lemon juice from aisle 7 and pour it on me and then laugh. I’m really good at reading people’s vibes.
The point is that I started worrying about what my kid/kids/adopted children/nieces I ask to call me mommy, are going to be like. What if my kid is awful?
What if my kid is the smelly kid? Like no matter how much I make him take a bath, he still smells?
What if my kid is really pretentious and demands to be the line leader every time his class travels in a group to the auditorium?
What if my kid thinks its funny to burb the alphabet?
What if my kid is named Nigel? Well, I would never let that happen.
What if my kid puts a sign on his door that says, “GO AWAY!” and tells me how much he hates me every day?
What if my kid’s friends don’t think I’m a hot mom? (whoa, that’s the worst one I’ve thought of so far)
What if my kid is a republican?
There is just a lot to consider. My parents had to deal with me embarrassing them when I was a kid. I thought it was super cool to color coordinate the rubber bands on my braces with the current holiday. Little did I know it just appeared that I constantly had food stuck in my teeth. They had to deal with me saying “TP for my bunghole” in the voice of Beavis and Butthead every ten minutes at the dinner table. They had to tolerate me insisting on writing my elementary school a letter expressing my severe opinion on how History class should be terminated due to the fact that “these things happened in the past and don’t matter anymore”
My poor unborn child.