A co-worker is having a baby.
I’ve been trying to discreetly discover her age, as if that will give me some indication of my time limit.
I go out and my Gramma asks if I met anyone.
“Get your hourglass off my uterus. It’s heavy.”
because I’m fucking funny.
My brother asked if I ever wanted to get married again and have kids…
as he started his stopwatch.
“I’M TWENTY-FUCKING-FIVE AND IN GRADUATE SCHOOL! SUCK MY VAGINAL LIPS!” I want to yell.
There’s something about the phrase “vaginal lips” that upsets people.
“If you ain’t got two kids by 21, you’re probably gonna die alone.. at least that’s what tradition told you.”
“Tiny little boxes in a row… ain’t what you want, it’s what you know.”
I sing along with the country station.
The song wouldn’t be popular were the singer and I the only ones who felt that way.
I’m going to stop feeling like my time is running out…
because it doesn’t have to be get married and have kids.
They aren’t connected moves…
I can do babies alone.
One year, I knew I’d miss the fair if I waited for someone to go with me.
No one wanted to go.
So I went alone.
I had a great time.
I saw what I wanted to see.
I skipped what I wanted to skip.
I left when I wanted to leave.
It was awesome.
On the last day, Jay and Ward went with me and it was fun then, too.
Babies are the same.
I can live without ever being married again…
but I want babies.
If I hit 30 with no prospects…
I’ll just have them…
and if a boy comes along later, that’s great…
but I’m not risking my chance for family on said hypothetical man.
I told my country, old-fashioned, blue collar dad as much.
“Good. Other women are weak. You don’t need anyone else.”
I imagine looking for love will be a lot more fun now.