Corporate America is Trying to Impregnate Me!

The content of my mail has vastly changed in the last few weeks.

In honor of International Women's Day, I've decided to man up and finally post some thoughts that have been particularly bugging me over the last few weeks. I've had the sneaking suspicion that someone has been secretly trying to get me pregnant and now the evidence is too much to ignore. This is a notice to you, Corporate America: I'm on to you. I get it. You want a baby in my tummy (that's where it does its thing, right?). Unfortunately for you, your plans will not succeed. I have no need for any more parasites than the ones I already have special shampoos for. So there.

I first suspected your evil plot when I received an advertising magazine of tips and coupons for expectant mothers. I wondered if I had purchased something in the past months that could have been construed as a purchase for a pregnant woman or a baby. Processed meats? Canned tuna? Champagne? Nothing I had bought should have triggered such a mailing, especially since it was addressed to my maiden name and was for a store at which I do not shop.

The mailing was soon forgotten as I had many naps to take but one day, as I accidentally stumbled out the front door, the mail lady was there and I couldn't avoid having to get my own mail. In it was another terrible item: a catalog for maternity wear. This had to be a joke. Who thought I was fat? The back of the mailing indicated it was directed to my maiden-named self. The only possible answer to my quandary then was that there is a national database maintained by Corporate America and the Gubmint, dedicated to keeping track of unimpregnated women and shaming them into motherhood if it is not achieved by the age of [REDACTED].

There is a whole lot of baby shit out there to buy and if you don't produce children to necessitate yourself and your family and friends buying it, you are hurting the job creators. I suppose the next step is the Obama Fertility Drone, which will come in my window and do horrible medical experiments to me to force me to have a miracle baby but you forgot that my body has a way of shutting that whole thing down. So I win again, fools.

I know, I know. I should probably have nine or eleventy kids right now but I'm still too selfish. There's a lot of my life I would have to change that I'm just not ready for, so you will just have to wait. I'm simply not ready to:

• Hand my social media accounts over to my child. This phenomenon occurs when the avatar changes from a picture of a friend you used to hang out with into an image of a child. This is because children are whiny little jerks starving for attention and you are required to give up any and all of your accounts over to them. Your parasite has been expelled but still manages to drain and control every part of your social life. No thanks. Tell your kid to stop posting selfies of him/herself all the time, too. I get it; they're cute. So are the other 20 kids doing the same thing today. 
• Have to actually do something for once, like hire a nanny and another publicist.
• Listen to other people tell me what to do with my body. Sorry, that's between me and my plastic surgeon. I don't need to hear lectures about breast feeding vs. not, natural birth vs. C-section. This slammin' bod is for teh sex0rz, not having babies.
• Share baby food. That jar of mashed pears is mine, bitch!
• Take my cat out of my purse. I can only carry around one little needy thing with me each day, and two don't fit in there very well. I could be like everyone else and carry a baby in the purse while putting the cat and everything I buy all day in my catch-all cart aka stroller, but until Balenciaga makes one I'm not buying one.
• Stop mainlining coffee. Self-explanatory.
• Stop mainlining vodka. Also self-explanatory. (Unless the baby was cool with that or something.)
• Stop being a naked sushi body. Because Take Your Child to Work Day would be awkward unless they wanted to do it, too.

I'm sure there are lots of other reasons why I don't want to parent right now but I can't type them all while I'm shaking so hard from caffeine withdrawal. The moral of the story is, I'll have kids when I'm good and ready. Which is probably never. So stop sending me stupid mail.