The Bad Mom

When I was bored and sober. I had this funny experiment in my mind where I answer a personal ad, and don’t tell the guy that I’m 71/2 months pregnant. What a great story it would make, even though some innocent guy gets sucked into the butt of my joke. I’m pregnant I’m not dead; have a sense of humor. I’d like to meet spontaneous people who can let their guard down. To me it’s a waste of time to email back and forth, because that’s not the real person. Like a dog sniffs the other’s assholes to see if they like one another, I need to smell pheromones.
I met my experiment in a bookstore. “Hi, I’m Molly, did I mention I’m pregnant”
“No, I don’t think you did,” he wasn’t amused by my joke. He stayed long enough for a cup of tea and some advice being a single dad of a twelve-year-old: “Don’t feel guilty about your situation. You love the kid and that’s all you can do. If they’re gonna have an issue, that’s something they have to deal with.” We went our separate ways and that was the excitement of my “Girls Gone Wild” spring break.

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