Why is everyone pregnant? Fuck.

Well, you know. Not everyone. But tis the season, I guess, for a plethora of women tottering around with big bellies, stretch marks and swollen ankles.

They make me nervous. I feel like they should be sitting down, like I should call them a cab, like they should be hospitalized because any moment they're just going to burst and get placenta all over the place. It makes me think about being pregnant, having a little parasitic little entity in your abdomen, like an alien, moving independently- little bumps and nudges from inside your body... ugh. Frankly, the whole thing terrifies me.

The other day I was helping a very pregnant woman pick out mascara. She was holding a tube by Bourjois and one by Stila, and swearing that one of these stupid mascaras helped her eyelashes grow. She said she had run out of it a while ago, and since then her eyelashes had once again become thin.

"Look," I said. "Anything that says it will grow your eyelashes or eyebrows, won't. It's impossible. They're lying." I explained to her that waterproof mascara is chemically-altered and may cause eyelashes to fall out and not grow back, so the best thing to keep this from happening is to use something natural and tar-free. Then she said something that completely caught me off-guard.

"Maybe it's because I'm pregnant." And she looked like she was going to cry.

"Oh," I said. "I don't know anything about that."

I feel even worse for the women, heavy with child, already pushing a stroller with an infant buckled in and holding the hand of a screaming two-year-old. Why would they do that to themselves?

My current obsession.
Off Beat Bride

Now, I don't plan on getting married anytime soon. I don't even know if the whole marriage thing is right for me. When I imagine my future, I don't see kids, a picket fence, or a minivan, thank Christ. When I read this blog, though, I want a wedding. Not to be married- landing a man has nothing to do with it. But a huge party, all eyes on yours truly? Me in a gorgeous dress showcasing my soon-to-be half-sleeve? A big ass cake that I get to dream up? Yes, yes, yes.