How I Know I’m Pregnant

You know, aside from the obvious alien kicking me in the gut several times a day and the ever-expanding waistline.

So yesterday I found myself in an area outside of Baltimore where I rarely venture. After my errand was complete, I realized I just may be near the only Sonic in the region. After getting hooked on Cherry Limeades while living in Georgia, I couldn’t just pass up the opportunity. Turns out, it was four miles away from my current location. Let’s do lunch!

Now, I am a picky eater. Like extremely picky. I eat everything plain. Dry, plain, meat, bun, possibly cheese, that’s it. God help my mother when there was ketchup on my burger when I was little. Or now. ANYWAY.

This is what my typical hot dog looks like:

This is what ended up in my hungry little paws yesterday after car-hop delivery:

Looks a little different than my normal fare, eh?

That, my friends, is a Chicago dog (sans tomato). Onions, relish, mustard and other shit I’m not even sure. Celery salt. Obviously a pickle. I don’t know what I was thinking. Why did I order this? Is there even a hot dog in there? I just wasted my money. Would they take it back? At least I had tots and my limeade so it wasn’t a total bust.

Oh. OH. IT WAS NOT A TOTAL BUST.

I ate the whole damn thing. And then I wondered what was wrong with me. And then I blamed Little A. And then I looked in the rearview mirror and wasn’t even sure who was looking back at me. Also, I had to double check to make sure there wasn’t mustard on my face.

When I got home, I found out it was Chicago’s Birthday. So fate brought me and baby and that disgusting delicious mess of a hot dog together. And it was good.

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5 thoughts on “How I Know I’m Pregnant

  1. I’m not even going to begin telling you how many of these I ate in Chicago last week. Not at Sonic, either. Not because it’ll make you jealous, but because it’ll make me look like a pig.

    Also, I probably shouldn’t tell you how many I eat at Sonic, or how many gallons of cherry limeade I consume on a regular basis. That’s because you’d be jealous.

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