by Jane Etarie
I can't believe how wrong I was. I've always hated children. Especially babies. Always crying. Always shitting. Draining your money. No more going out. No more time to yourself. Having the kid was like the end of your life.
I mean, that was all true, but having a kid— having a family— looked like a lot of fun. There were so many hot young couples out there with kids these days. It wasn't like you had to be a fat old housewife to have one anymore. And you know what? I wondered— why did I wait so long to have a baby? What was I so afraid of? I was pretty sure that this was what I always really wanted, without knowing it. This was going to be perfect.
The day just flew by and I was almost off work. I looked at some baby shit on YouTube. There was a couple of toddlers, like two or three years old, in their slutty ginch. Singing Fergie. Singing Lady Gaga. Katie Perry. I guess they weren't bad. But I thought to myself— my baby can do better. My baby can sing better than those little hussies.
Now I've just got to get pregnant.
Muffintop
It's not as if I couldn't pull off pregnancy. I get pregnant real easy. I was even mistaken for being pregnant once.
I was like out drinking with some girlfriends at Glo-ball one night. I wasn't seeing anyone at the time. And I'm like wearing this tiny half top and these supercute low riser jeans with no thong. I was looking hot. Like porn star hot. And I see this guy that I went to school with a couple years before. I start talking to him and I don't think he recognizes me. So I'm all like, Remember? I sat beside you in Remedial Math 11? I had Mr. Pappadopoulos fired for inappropriate touching? Dirty detention? Blindfold Fridays? The pylon? And it takes a few more details, but finally he's all like, Ohhhh, ok. I think I remember you now.
And so we start having like this really awesome conversation about shit we were doing after grad. And I kind of keep getting in closer because it's like loud, and we're talking loud, and I'm pulling the hair over my ear and leaning right into his face to hear him. And I'm moving my shoulders with the music, sucking on my straw, giving him the eyes. I start grinding him a little.
And things are like going so good, and then he says to me, How long before you have your baby?
And I'm all like, What? And I pull back. And retard leans in like he's going to ask again, and I cut him off, and I'm like, I know what you said! I was like stunned. And then I'm all like, Motherfucker!... Excuse me?... Are you fucking joking? Like seriously? Are you trying to be funny or something? And I'm like gaping and I feel like I'm going to cry, and then I'm all like, Fuck you! I'm not pregnant, dirtybitch... who the fuck do you think you are talking to people like that anyway?
And then I start going on about how I'm probably like bloated because I just ate at the Bread Garden, how it must have been all the carbs. And my period. How I was like retaining water because of my period. And that I'd been drinking a lot, like tons. And he just kind of shrugs, and shakes his head and is all like, Whatever, I said sorry.
But I keep going on about why I might look bloated, and he cuts me off and is like, Look... I just don't think it's appropriate for someone to be dressing that way and hanging out in bars when they're pregnant is all I'm saying...
And then some skank, his girlfriend, goes up to him and starts talking in his ear. I guess she's getting all jealous that her man's talking to some hottie at the bar. And I can sort of hear what she's saying a bit, like, Who is that? What does muffintop want? And then he's all like, I dunno, she's just some crazy pregnant chick who thinks we dated in high school.
And I really don't remember what happened next. My lawyer had it all thrown out of court anyways. Like they moved or didn't fill out some forms or shit. And I don't care what the witnesses said— I'm pretty sure that he shoved me first. But I guess that I like grabbed a pint glass and smashed it over the little whore's head. And she's all like screaming and her blonde hair's soaked with beer and turning red pretty fast and he's like trying to calm her down.
Then he turns to me and is all like shrieking, whining, Are you fucking crazy? What the fuck's the matter with you, you crazy bitch? And he turns back to her, like to calm the her down, and he pulls off his shirt off and sticks it on her head. And she screeches more because I guess she's got glass stuck in her scalp. So he's ignoring me, and I grab a pool cue and crack it across his head real good. And by then the security's on me. She winds up with like twenty stitches, and he's got a concussion or a fractured skull or some shit and suddenly he's not talking so fast anymore.
And for like, I don't know, six weeks after that, I didn't eat. I puked yellow acid and bile and dry heaved. I ran up and down my stairs until my clothes didn't fit anymore. Which kind of sucked because I had a lot of awesome clothes. But like a month later they all fit again, so whatever, it was all good.
Prego
Heard you're prego. Thought you were looking a little bigger. Congratulations.
He didn't even look away from the tv for a second. He didn't even say hi. He just kept playing his retarded video game. Something where he was like running around and shooting and getting shot at. I wished the tv would really shoot him. Right in the balls. I can't fucking stand Dean Geoffrie Wheat.
So I was all like friendly, smiling, and I say to him— It's true. Pretty exciting stuff. Guess you're gonna be Uncle Dean.
The thought made me sick. It made me sick to even talk to him. He was just sitting there like a slug on the couch. Like a sack of lazy pigshit. With his wifebeater and baggy jeans. His gold chains and rusty Caesar haircut. The 4:20 tattoo on his neck. So gross. Just so nasty.
Guess you gotta stop drinking so much, he says.
I didn't even bother responding— I would've smashed his stupid face in. So I was like, Hey Dean... is Robert around? And then he's like fucking ignoring me. And I'm about to ask him again and then he's all like, You flank the right. I'll take the rear... I'm good at taking the rear. And then I'm like confused. And he just starts laughing. His horrible weasel laugh. Hyuh hyuh hyuh. Showing his chipped teeth. Hyuh Hyuh Hyuh. I seriously wanted to puke. And then I like realize that he's talking to some other player on his headset, like I'm not even in the room.
And I'm like, Dean— I'm supposed to pick up Robert for work. Did he leave already? Did he just pop out? Is he coming back?
And I swear to god— I couldn't believe it. He takes his hand off his controller for a second and raises it to me. Like telling me to hold on. Like to wait. Like he's shushing me like I'm some fucking child. And he keeps talking some dumb video game bullshit to the nerd on the other end.
I don't even know why Robert lets him stay at his apartment. He's not even like his roommate. He just sleeps on the couch. He's supposed to pay Robert a couple hundred bucks a month. At least he told him he would. But he's like one of those assholes who always puts off paying his debts. Or he'll like bring up how he paid for a round, or a bag of weed, and somehow they're even. Just a total leech. Fucking gingerknob.
And he'll eat all of Robert's groceries. And never pay. He's not shy about using the last of something. He'll like literally squirt half a bottle of Quik into his glass of milk and leave nothing for Robert. The guy's a thoughtless douche. A total scumball. One time when I was going to the Circle K for smokes, he asked me to grab him a corn dog and a Polar Pop. Says he'd pay me later. So I grabbed that fucking corn dog for him. I grabbed it and dropped it on the ground. I dropped it in the ash bin. And I ran it under the rim of the toilet in the shitter. He said thanks when I got back. Asked if I wanted a bite. No... No I was good.
I guess Dean got shot. Like in his video game. He was all like, No no no no no no no... aw fuck!— Fuck!— Jesus fuck Mary... and then he finally answers me. Robert was late for work. He was supposed to be there a couple hours ago. He just ran out, just left. And I wondered why Robert wouldn't have called me? Like, hey— don't worry about the ride. And then I saw his cell on the kitchen counter. So I grabbed it and I started to leave. And I was all like, Alright, thanks Dean. I'll see you later... If you hear from Robert
, tell him I'll still pick him up?... Alright?... Ok, see ya.
I hated to even say anything to that weasel. The greasy bastard. He was like just ignoring me. Can't even say bye. For real— he should be out on the street. He should be living in prison. Living with some big nigger horse cock up his ass. Rent free and hustling for cigarettes. I wished he'd die. Seriously, I just wished he'd choke on cock and die of AIDS, that fucking faggot.
And then I was leaving. I had the door open, and he goes, Oh hey, uh... got an extra cigarette? That fucking scammer probably has a full pack. He always does that. What a fucking bum. Fucking parasite. I bet he probably tries to convince Robert to sell our baby online, split the profits. He'd pimp his own sister and jerk off in the corner if he could. And I'm like, No, sorry Dean. Quitting. You know, baby and all.
And as I'm shutting the door, I'm not a hundred percent, but I swear I hear him go,
You got something on your pants. Looks like period.
Juicy
Holy shit. My head was like spinning. He was right. Right below the Juicy on my white sweats. It wasn't there when I bought it. The red splotch. The red splotch that looked like I shit blood. My period.
I can't even describe the panic I felt. It was like the dream where you have the test you didn't study for. Or the one where you forget to wear clothes. It was like shitting your pants in public. Or getting caught by mom with a finger up the dog's asshole. I couldn't just swing the door open again and start babbling some lame excuses. It would be too obvious. He was going to tell Robert for sure, I knew it. Like it was some big joke.
When I was a little girl, I used to lie a lot. Like all the time. I'd lie about anything. I'd make up stories about friends I didn't have. If I broke the lamp it was never me. It was one of my friends. Anything and everything, I'd lie. I'd lie so much I believed my lies. At first my mom and my stepdad thought it was cute. But as I got older and lied to cover up for the bad things I did, like for my expensive mistakes, my illegal mistakes, my mom thought it was not cute. Like so not cute.
She had a saying. I don't know where it's from. Maybe the Bible? It was The wicked flees when no man pursueth. I didn't know what the hell it meant at the time, only that it meant mom was mad at me. And that I should probably start lying. Later I figured out that it meant like, the more you deny something before you even get blamed for it, the more likely you're lying. And more important— the more guilty you look. So I learned to lie only when I got blamed, and not before. And to lie right the first time. Lie once and lie right.
So I like calmed down. The wicked flees when no man pursueth. I wasn't going to say another word to Dean. The lady doth protest too much. That was the other one. My mom read a lot of the Bible or some shit. I'd just let it slide. Like nothing happened. Dean's a fucking retard anyways. He's sneaky. He's like street smart. I'll admit that maybe he's even cunning. But he's a shithead. Fucking stupid. Stupid and ugly. I don't even think he like knows what period is, except that he finds it funny. I just hoped he wouldn't mention it to Robert.
It didn't matter anyways. Within a couple of weeks I'd be knocked up. That was for sure. Then it wouldn't matter what the fuck that retard said. I would just say that it was lies. Lies straight from hell. Give him a ride to crazytown— he's fucking nuts. Or maybe I'd just mention something to Robert in passing. Like you wouldn't believe what I sat on. I'd think of something, I always do. It would be fine. I had all day to think of shit.
I threw an empty BK bag and napkins on my car seat before I sat down. Now I was just annoyed. This was the last time I used these expensive bullshit hemp tampons. Fatties— The Green Tampon. Organic even. Whatever. I looked at Robert's phone, at the wallpaper of fifty dollar bills fanned out over a set of fake tits. I was going to visit him at work, drop off his cell, see if he needed a lift home later. Right after I popped in a new plug and changed my pants. Right after I checked every number on that phone. Checked every number and every goddamn message.
Cousin Terry
I couldn't believe it. Like was he for real? Seriously? There was no fucking way. So I was all like are you kidding me? Is this some kind of sick joke? Seriously— I thought he was fucking joking. For like an hour, I thought he was messing with me. I nearly raped him a half dozen times before I finally realized he wasn't shitting me. It was insane. Robert would not have sex with me. Not while I was pregnant, he said.
Why? Why the fuck wouldn't he have sex with me? It wasn't like I was any bigger. It's not like he could poke the baby in the eye. It was like maybe a month old— or at least he thought so. What the hell was his problem? So I told him this was his last chance. That I wouldn't put out for another week if he kept trying to be funny. But he was firm. He wouldn't do it.
He wasn't trying to be an asshole, and he really didn't want to talk about it, he said. But I was furious. Except I was faking like I was all sad— like I was upset that he wasn't attracted to me anymore. Only really I wanted to punch him in the face, to bust his fucking nose, and ask him, ask him while he bled, Why? Why not? Is it that... that little bitch? You'll fuck around with some other cunt behind my back and now I'm not good enough?
I wanted him to know that I knew. That maybe you shouldn't leave messages from other bitches on your cell. That maybe you shouldn't leave your cell lying around where I could find it and listen to them and read every shitty text. But that could wait. I wasn't about to let that little whore get between me and my man. I wasn't going to let her fuck this up.
So he apologizes again and says it's not me, it's not what I'm thinking. So I kind of cheer up and I'm all like, Come on, you're being an idiot. This is just retarded. You're being a fucking retard. And then he looks at me all serious and says, That's it. That's why. He says that he's sorry, but he doesn't want a retarded baby.
And I started laughing. Like I couldn't believe it. I never knew he was so funny. I couldn't stop. And he just shakes his head and rolls his eyes and turns over, like he knew that's how I'd react. So I was still laughing and I was all like, What? Come on, don't be that way— you were joking, right?
And he just ignores me and reaches to the nightstand for a cigarette. And finally I calm down enough to I tell him that he's wrong. That he's being crazy. That a baby can't turn retarded that way. Only now I’m not so sure, and a little worried that he’s right— and absolutely horrified that I could have a retarded baby.
And he says that it's true, that he didn't want to add more sperm. Like add more chromosomes or DNA or extra baby or whatever. He says that it's happened before. That it was a medical fact. That it happened to his cousins. His mother and Auntie Pattie told him so. Their sister Donna had retarded babies.
Cousin Terry was bowlegged and cross-eyed because Uncle Russ kept fucking Auntie Donna right up until he accidentally induced birth. And the same thing happened to Cousins Leo and Cliff. It was in the papers, like on the news. They were like conjoined at birth, and had to be separated from the hip and part of their sides. Like they shared a spleen or some shit. And now they're all like crooked and short and walk weird. Like they limp and shake a leg a couple times with every step. All lopsided and gross. It looks really weird, and they look really weird. Like little kids stare at them.
And it's not like they can get work, because they're all crooked and gimpy, or bowlegged and cross-eyed. And Robert says the twins are drunks and addicts and spend whatever's left of their welfare and government disability checks on prostitutes. And if they need more drug money they'll like sing in their froggy voices and dance on street corners. He thinks Cousin Leo plays tambourine. And Cousin Terry huffs paint fumes behind a Taco Bell dumpster most days so that he can see straight. All because Uncle Russ and Auntie Donna couldn't control their horniness during pregnancy.
And then he tells me about like a second cousin of his or something. Lorne. He's like one of those smart retards who can like remember the phone book or some shit. Wears glasses even. He's not sure if Lorne's parents kept fucking while they were pregnant with him. But Robert
says he strongly suspects that they did.
And it's like, now I'm not so sure about having kids with Boo anymore.
Downward dog
I started sucking cock when I was ten. Maybe eleven. So I'm pretty good at it. I ran with some pretty hot bitches back in Junior High and High School. It was a lot of competition. A lot of competition. So I had to work a little harder to stand out. I had this trick where I would like take a banana and shove it all the way down my throat, then pull it back out. It was like an advertisement. Like it said, This girl is really good at gobbling knob, and will probably put out. Which was like true. And it worked.
Robert wouldn't fuck me, but he'd still let me blow him. And if he wasn't going to give me what I needed to have his baby, I was going to take it.
I got the idea from TV. I was like flipping around, and there was one of those nature shows on. Like this one about birds. Crows. And they showed like all these clips, and these nerds on the show were all like going on about how smart the birds were and how they lived. And they were like filming this one bird. A mother. And they showed the mother bird feeding her baby birds. Like all chewed up worms or some shit. It was fucking gross. And I guess they were like watching the bird too much. And she like took off. Or was like eaten by a cat or something. So these scientists sort of adopted these baby birds, and fed them like blender worms with some sort of puppet bird and an eye dropper.
And I'm like watching this, and then I knew. I knew what I had to do. And it's like, I'm not religious, but I am very spiritual. And I felt this deep like, connection, I guess. To the world. I've read and listened to a lot of books. Books like The Secret. Seriously— I am a Secreteer. For real. So it's like, I know how to get what we want. I know all about manifesting what we desire into our lives. And I wanted Robert. And to keep Robert, I wanted and needed a baby. The universe is huge. You just ask it for something and it'll like give it to you. And so this was like the universe giving me a hint. Pointing me to my baby. You just have to be like open to the signals. You have to accept the gifts when they're given.
