Listen up, I have a huge confesh: I totes almost had an aborsh last week. Ur probs like, “what hap?” So here’s what hap: My fiancé Jason had me all up in a Cincinnati Bowtie cuz YOLO and he was all, “Let’s try the Tony Danza Hamster!” I was like, “BDSM much, Jason?” FWIW, Jason is totes cray-cray in the sack.
The next week at work, I realized my P was lates. Like supes lates. At first, I was like, IDGAF, I’m a burgerista. I do what I want. But then later, I was all, FML. I make min wage and I am up the MF spout. This is some BS.
I didn’t want to tell Jason. He’d probs want me to keep it then ask for a Boston Pancake. My BFF, who works for PG&E, was at A&E shopping with her 303. So I went to a FOAF. I’m like, “Girl, WTF do I do?” She said, “IMHO, you have to give Jason the 511.” My BFF agreed. I was worried, tho. You can’t do a Hot Karl when you have a BBY! LOLOLZ.
I decided the best way to tell Jason was to DM him. He didn’t DM me back, so I IM’d him. Then I TM’d. I freaked out so hard, I almost left him a VM. I was all, “Remember when you did the B&E? Now I gotta take an EPT. Hope it’s not BFP!”
After three hours, he finally chatted me. “AYSIM? LMK. BBL.”
I understood his abbreviations to be mere demagoguery, but the insinuation that my unborn child’s deoxyribonucleic acid sequences belonged to another sire was downright pernicious. WTH. I told him, “Dude, you’re this baby’s OP.”
I took the preg test, and it was BFN. TG, right? Jason and I celebrated with an Abe Lincoln, followed by a Pink Sock. Totes felt mag in my vag. OMG I love him so much, you guys!!! Thank God I didn’t need an aborsh!