my eggs


Now, fan base. Hmmm. Let’s contemplate something of utmost importance.

Given the current state of my (ahem) finances and my lack of time to write/think/quit bad habits/begin new ones/stop being chubby/ pay my ever-growing gyno bill/make cakes/attend social obligations/clean out my closet/remove the dead roach from my floor/return phone calls/breathe/clean the weird green shit out of the refrigerator/spend quality time with loved ones/find new ones to love/write a movie/rollerblade,

would it be terribly wrong of me to sell my eggs for $8,000?

Which would afford me to live for some 4 months without working? So I could write? What would I write? Would I dedicate it to the kid? Would I run into the kid one day, would I give it a look? Would it give me a look, for being old and familiar?

What would it all look like?


Um, ew. Do we get laid back on a table while some distant stereo plays John Mellancamp? Does someone hold our hand while the doctor goes tap tap with some magic instrument, and out pops the egg like a sacred sandwich? And the want-to-be-mommy ingests the sandwich, and nine months later, out pops the thing that looks like me but she treats like her own?

Seriously, lady base. What are our thoughts? Our insides are a serious commodity. And I don’t know about you, but $8,000 free monies is looking pretty good right about now, especially now that i find myself fretting over the fact that my favorite hummus went up 39 cents. I walk the extra trek to the cheaper grocery store. I make little sandwiches and wrap them in foil for work. I buy cheap dresses. (Unnecessary? H no.) I do foot fetish parties. What?

Leave a Reply