jhmitchell

The Jade Writer Girl

You’re late.

Except you’re not that late so it’s okay. It’s nothing to make a fuss over because everyone is late sometimes, right?

So you put it out of your mind. You focus on other things. You don’t think about being late.

Except of course you do. You start comparing yourself to all your late friends. What did they do? How did they handle it? How late is late, anyway?

You decide you’re going to find out. On the way home, you make a pit stop for groceries and trail the Healthcare section absentmindedly.

You buy a lot of junk food.

You’re not an emotional eater. You just want a bit of comfort food—though, what kind of comfort you’re looking for you aren’t really sure. Yet.

You decide to call a friend. You figure if you tell someone, it won’t really seem like you’re late at all.

And it works!

For a little while.

Until the niggling nagging feeling creeps in.

You take the plunge. Bit the bullet. Find out.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

To think these things used to take twenty minutes!

Deep breath, and release. Phew. Okay. So you’re just late? That’s okay. You can live with just being late.

Except you can’t. Because three days later, you’re still late.

Mixed emotions niggle through you and you decide, after much deliberating (read: eating candy) to just find out again.

You’re more nervous, and you drink a lot of water. You bump into the door on way down the hall and owww, man your boobs are sore!

Another long three minutes of waiting. Waiting. Wait…hang on…is that a line?

You peer closer. Maybe? You’re not sure. You curse, and quickly you reach for your phone to find out what a sort-of line means? Are you still just late?

Recommendation? Wait.

Ugh.

Two more days and now you’re not sure you even need the test. You’re sore and tired and cranky and just about certain that you’re not late anymore.

You’re waaaay past late.

So you go back to the store to get groceries. The girl gives you a funny look as you once again wander down the healthcare aisle. You feel embarrassed, but then she offers you a smile as you pass through the check out and mentions that the chocolate bars are on special.

Get home. Skull down that glass of water and wait for it to go through you. For it to press uncomfortably against your bladder – you want to make extra sure this time.

Okay, go time. Third time’s the charm, right?

Two…no, not even two minutes.

Less than two minutes. Sure as sure there it is. One bright, unavoidably, ostentatious pink line.

Well…guess that means you’re not late anymore.

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