False Alarm

Here’s a story from about five or six years ago. It’s funnier now than it was then.

[Update: I wrote this to a friend a long time ago when she asked how I came up with my lemon bar recipe. I changed a few things and made it more like a blog post.  Now that I think about it, it would be funnier if I had a big box of tampons instead of lemon juice.   That might be too much.  What do you think? :)] 

So, I’m standing in line at Wal-Mart with a box of condoms, a pregnancy test, and a large bottle of lemon juice. People were staring at me but I pretended not to notice. I had more important things to worry about.

How I ended up at Wal-Mart with the odd mix of items in my basket actually started at dinner the night before. I fixed steak, baked potatoes and salad. I was having a baked potato and salad. My daughter decided she didn’t want to eat her steak. Uneaten food is not a problem in our house. The problem was the unfinished meat. It was sitting there taunting me.

“Bite me.” It said. “Just take a little bite. You’ll like it.”

I figured a small bite would be OK. Then I figured another little bite would be better. Before I knew what I was doing, I had eaten the entire steak and was licking steak sauce off my lips. It was good, until my husband decided to add his commentary.

“The last time I saw you eat meat like that, you were pregnant with our oldest.”*

I think his teasing may have caused a panic attack. The last thing I wanted was another baby. I was barely surviving the two I had. The next thing I remember I was laying on the couch in the fetal position softly singing John Denver songs. It was scary.

I got up bright and early the next morning and headed to Wal-Mart. I found the pregnancy test and threw it in my basket. Then I passed the condoms. I don’t think I was thinking clearly. I was thinking,

“I’m probably not pregnant and I’m never having sex again. MyHusband will probably want to have sex again. I will encourage him to take a second wife. He’ll probably want some condoms.”

I was walking around thinking about how great it would be to have someone else around the house. Since I was the first wife I could boss her around. She could do the laundry, dishes, and my husband. I could walk around happy because I’m not pregnant. The fantasy was getting pretty intense when I remembered that Mom wanted me to make some lemon bars so I went back and grabbed some lemon juice.

So there I was, standing in line with an EPT, rubbers, and squeezed lemons on the conveyor belt. People were staring at me and I didn’t care. I had started to think about little baby toes and silky baby hair. I was remembering how good it felt to have a tiny warm body snuggled up next to me. The sight if first teeth, first smiles, first everythings were running through my mind.

“I guess you’re hoping your not,” the rude cashier said jostling me out of my memories. I scowled at her because I believe it’s a law in at least seven southern states, including Virginia, that you are not allowed to make small talk with someone purchasing either a pregnancy test or a box of condoms. I had both. She’s lucky I didn’t report her.

“No, right now I’m hoping I am. I’ll get over it.” I told her.

I went home and the second line never showed up on the test. I decided a second wife probably wouldn’t be a good idea and that I might have sex again. It all worked out. Except for the lemon bars. They didn’t taste like I wanted. I spent months working on a new recipe. It was a good distraction.

* This was true. I left in the middle of work one day and drove to the supermarket. I was consumed with desire. Even though I didn’t eat beef, I HAD to have a bag of beef jerky. Then I drove back and sat in the computer lab gnawing away at it and daring anyone to say something about eating in the lab. I thought I had lost my mind. I found out a week later that I was six weeks pregnant. I then figured out loosing your mind and pregnancy are closely related.