When I have female questions, I call S. She asks me her man questions in return. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I usually just make up an answer and see how long it takes for her to call me back and curse me out.
I called her in a panic yesterday. I had dropped my morning birth control pill and it rolled under my dresser and disappeared. What should I do in this situation? Take the next day's pill thereby screwing me up for the rest of the month? Open a new pack and take the corresponding pill thereby screwing me up next month?
S knows everything about birth control. She has been on the shot, the pill, the patch, Norplant, wild yam, and has also flung herself down a flight of stairs to control her fertility.
She told me to pray and called me a slut.
Satisfied with her valuable advice, I decided to ask her another question. For the record, S is not a doctor, nor does she have her GED. Still, she is really informed when it comes to important issues.
"Ever since I started this new pill, my boobs are really sore," I told her. "I think they're growing. Is this a side-effect?" I asked with my fingers crossed (my cups runneth under).
In her convincing scholarly voice, S said, "Lots of women at your age go through a period of breast growth. Usually, it's about a full cup size."
"Really?" I asked. I felt conflicted. Glee at the prospect of growing real live breasts and concern as to where I put the receipt for my new bra. Maybe I should exchange it for a B cup.
"Yeah f*cking right. Hahahaha, you little tittied b*tch!"
I love her.
In return I told her that her new boyfriend sounded like a stand-up kind of guy. She was worried because he has two seven-year-old kids, by two different women. "I love twins," I said. She agreed.
I still haven't found that pill. The cat probably ate it. At least he won't get pregnant.