Hypothetically Speaking . . .

. . . . . . . . Because Humor Matters

Pickles and Pregnancies

Written By: Michael Rochelle - Feb• 17•19

The other day, I was minding my own business in the middle of Target. As usual, I was only there to pick up one or two items, but I ended up with a cart full of stuff. It’s really not my fault though. Once you find out that BiC has a line of gel pens in assorted colors, you do what you have to do. At that point, they’re a necessity. Once you know better, you do better.

For those of you wondering, yes, I did have a shopping list. The problem is, I usually take a pen with me so that I can add things to the list as I go along. My shrink says I need to be more accountable, so at least I can be honest when I tell her that I only got the things that were on my list. There is no need to overshare and tell her exactly when I added the items to the list. I mean, it’s really none of her business.

After making major life decisions about colored markers, I made my way over to the food section. Before I go any further, I must address some disturbing news I heard on The Joe Budden Podcast. Apparently, the world is split into two types of people: those who feel it’s ok to buy food from Target, and those who don’t. This was news to me.

You should have heard the disgust in the hosts’ voices as they talked about people buying tomatoes off aisle six. They mentioned something about Target having a smell and there being something wrong with purchasing your underwear and your spaghetti from the same place. From their perspective, you might as well have gone dumpster diving at a landfill for leftover lobster and potato chips.

I, myself, have never thought about it that way, but I did start wondering if I had been one of the people they observed getting excited and doing a jig after finding bananas and Ziploc bags on sale. For me, it really is about the little things. You should see what I do whenever they take a nickel off the price of Pop-Tarts. Let’s just say you may have to cover your toddler’s eyes.

As I was strolling down the condiment aisle, trying to decide which mustard would make my mama proud, my eyes landed on a jar of pickles. Suddenly, everything seemed right with the world. Before I realized what was happening, I had moonwalked right on over to the Vlasics as if they were a new invention. I never knew that choosing dill spears could be so thrilling. If I wasn’t middle-aged, I would have done a back flip right there in front of the bottles of hot sauce and relish.

Twenty minutes later, as I was still deciding which pickle jar would be coming home with me, I hit a wall of panic and dread. Why was I craving pickles all of a sudden? I probably hadn’t eaten a pickle since at least 1984, but at that moment, I would have chosen pickles as my last meal if I were given the opportunity. Something was clearly wrong.

I ran over the various possibilities in my head. But, because I never trust my own information, I tapped the lady next to me on her shoulder and asked for feedback. She had on jeans and UGG boots, so I knew she was smart. She looked me over and said that I was probably ovulating or about to get my period. When I informed her that I was a guy, (it’s 2019, so I understand why she didn’t want to make any assumptions), she told me it didn’t matter. Hmm. Maybe she was onto something.

Immediately, I grabbed my phone to ask Siri if I was ovulating. If anyone should know my cycle, it would be her. When she responded, “I’m on my break,” I decided to take matters into my own hands and quickly headed over to the feminine hygiene section. One way or the other, I was going to get to the bottom of this.

As I passed a variety of feminine products that I would never quite understand, some with wings and some without, I did my Googles to narrow down my search. It was then that I was assaulted by an idea I hadn’t considered yet. Maybe I wasn’t ovulating or getting my period at all. Maybe I was pregnant. How would I explain this to my mom? Who was the father? Was I the father? I fainted. Fortunately, I landed on a shelf of maxi pads, which broke my fall. For the record, they really are absorbent! I didn’t feel a thing.

Frightened by the idea that I could be with child, I considered the options. What type of mother would I be? What if I was having triplets? More importantly, do they even sell fashionable maternity clothing for men? It was at this point that I realized I was getting way ahead of myself. Before jumping to any conclusions, I would have to do what any normal guy in my situation would do: I would have to take a pregnancy test.

As I looked at the test options, I realized how unprepared I was for this venture. Some were digital, and some weren’t. Some could provide my results within a minute, while others would take a little longer. Some showed the results as a plus or minus, and others displayed your fate with either one line or two. It was as if you needed a college degree just to understand the options. If I chose correctly, I could take the test right there on aisle ten and learn whether I’d be a mother before I made it to the checkout line. I wasn’t excited.

Well, my dear readers, I am happy to share with you that I am not pregnant. Just to be sure, I took 8 tests back to back. I even had several other Target customers and a manager look at the tests behind me to confirm. I am not sure why I got so many strange looks as I thrust the used test sticks toward them. I just wanted them to give a second opinion. After all, my life was depending on this.

As it turns out, I wasn’t ovulating or on my period either. Now, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable by oversharing, but I can say that I took a test to prove I wasn’t ovulating, and I chose one of the options with wings to find out whether I was on my period or not. After walking around uncomfortably for a whole week, I can say that Aunt Flo and the Redcoats never showed. It was a joyous occasion.

Now that I think about it, maybe it was a bit unrealistic for me to have even thought that I was pregnant. I mean, I’d opted to be spayed and neutered years ago to avoid these types of scares, so I really should have known that there was no need to be picking out car seats and bassinets so quickly. Apparently, you can want a pickle just because you want a pickle, and it doesn’t automatically mean you’re having quadruplets. Very good to know.

Michael Rochelle
Humor blog: http://www.humormike.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/michael.rochelle1
Instagram: humor_mike_
Twitter: @mikeyllo

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