The Dollar Tree sells pregnancy tests. A buck apiece. They work too. Due my never-ending paranoia, I test regularly, at least once a month, sometimes more. So last night I picked up three while I was in the Dollar Tree neighborhood. I'm a big girl now, so I didn't buy twenty other items to hide the three boxes, though my inner teen begged me to shield her from the shame. Sometimes I should listen to my inner teen.
The checkout clerk chatted me up. About pregnancy tests. With my fourteen year-old son standing there.
Her: Oh, three? Ha-ha.
Her: Just want to be sure, huh? Ha-ha.
Me: Um, I just like to have them on hand.
Her: Yeah, I do that too. Ha-ha. Do you have a goal here?
Me: Um...yeah. I have six kids and I'm wanting to keep it that way.
Her: Ha-ha. Good luck with that. Ha-ha.
Her: Huh-ha-huh-ha! Credit or debit?
What is the world coming to? Next strangers will be asking about how Aunt Flo's visit is going this month. I swear the next time someone does this to me I am going to treat them to the full-on conception to birth story of my latest, the line behind me be damned.