800 Words
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Analise stood in the Family Planning aisle at the Walgreens, staring at the pregnancy tests, her head bobbing along to the faded Billy Idol song playing from the overhead speakers.
Dancing with myself. Dancing with myself.
There were way more tests than she was expecting. A whole shelf, filled top to bottom.
Well there's nothing to lose, And there's nothing to prove. I'll be dancing with myself.
Lately, she'd been crying a lot. Spontaneous sobbing because of commercials for cell phone plans that ran for five seconds at the beginning of YouTube videos. Sobbing because of how much she loved that stoplights were invented. Sobbing because of how cute her cat's feet were. She cried thinking about stars. She cried thinking about sand. She cried thinking about the fleeting existence of goldfish.
At that point, she decided something was definitely wrong.
Lately, food tasted weird. Bacon wasn't supposed to be sweet. Pears weren't supposed to make her nauseous. She grimaced as she forced herself to finish her coffee.
When the thought of salt and vinegar potato chips turned her stomach, she knew something was very, very wrong.
She must be pregnant. No other explanation.
Well, no, no other explanation she wanted to accept, because the truth that she was just stressed and goofy did not make her feel like a competent adult.
Nope. There was something biologically wrong with her, and she was going to prove it, then use it as an acceptable excuse for her crazy for the next nine months.
So let's sink another drink, 'Cause it'll give me time to think. If I had the chance, I'd ask the world to dance, And I'll be dancing with myself.
Why was this test $60? Did some people really have $60 to spend on pregnancy tests? For that much, she could go to the doctor and have a real test done by professionals in lab coats, with expensive machines and computer readouts.
She didn't want to spend a whole bunch of money to have a plastic stick tell her that she had become an emotional chip-hater for no apparent reason, and she would now have to take a deeper look into her own psyche. (Not that that would happen, because she was definitely pregnant.) If she got one with a digital readout instead of a mysterious pink (or blue?) plus sign (minus sign?), it would say something like that.
NOT PREGNANT. JUST CRAZY. BUY SOME TISSUES AND PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER, GIRL.
Why did this one come in a four pack? Did she really need to do this four times? Were they that inaccurate, or was this test designed for people who wanted to be absolutely sure?
Why weren't there any with funny names like they had on TV?
She spotted the Walgreens generic brand and brightened. Then second guessed herself. Was this an okay thing to trust to a Walgreens generic?
If I had the chance, I'd ask the world to dance. If I had the chance, I'd ask the world to dance.
A woman strolled into the aisle, with a giant stroller and a tiny baby, to inspect the puffy bags of diapers.
Annalise narrowed her eyes at the baby, made an assumption, and started talking. “Do you know if this is an okay one to get?”
The woman turned and blinked, as if she was unused to random strangers asking her about pregnancy tests when she was out running errands. “What?”
“This one?” Analise held up the Walgreens generic box. “Am I going to regret being a cheapskate and getting this one? Do you have a recommendation?”
The woman stared at her a moment, then her entire face softened.
Analise immediately realized her mistake.
“Oh, honey,” the woman said. Her smile was consoling. Warm. Pitying. “It'll be alright either way. You'll be fine.”
Pft. Of course she'd be fine. She might not even be pregnant. Just tearful. Because this song was just...just so good.
Oh no, she was about to cry again.
She lowered her eyes and shrugged, pretending the woman had answered her question, and pretending she hadn't just sniffed like she was holding back tears. She tucked the generic test under her arm, and made her way to the front of the store to wait in line.
There she grabbed a tube of ChapStick from the impulse buy stand. Burt's Bees. It would make her look like an adult and hold off the pity in the cashier's eyes when she checked out. Because nothing said “responsibility” like buying the same brand of ChapStick as your mother.
Yes. Great plan.
Her head bobbed along with the music.
If I had the chance, I'd ask the world to dance. If I had the chance, I'd ask the world to dance. And I'll be dancing with myself.
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