My four friends and I are drunk in a casino in Las Vegas, Nevada. We just saw a man strip down naked in a bar. We are hungry. HANGRY.
We walk into Emeril and sit down. Augusta yells, “OH SHIT. There’s mac and cheese on the menu. It’s a game changer.”
The woman at the table next to us laughs, so we make friends with her because there’s nothing more my friends love than someone laughing at us and also attention. She and her man-toy (her words not mine) ask us why we are in Vegas.
WE ARE YOUNG AND STUPID AND SOMEWHAT PRETTY WITH MAKEUP ON DO WE NEED A REASON TO BE IN VEGAS.
Because my friends and I are completely messed up in the head, we say we are in Vegas for a gender reveal party because I am pregnant.
I have a beer in front of me.
I have a beer in front of me.
I HAVE A BEER IN FRONT OF ME.
Side note: My friends and I spend a majority of our time making fun of gender reveal parties and coming up with insane gender reveal party ideas.
- 5K color run where you have to run and pay money and at the end, there will either be pink or blue powder thrown in your face. All proceeds go to the baby.
- Not having a gender reveal party and finding out for yourself and not inviting anyone over to find out the sex of your baby because other people have lives outside of yours. imsosorrykindof.
We say, “Pink shots for a girl and blue shots for a boy.”
What. Is. The. Actual. Matter. With. Us.
I see the couple’s faces. They don’t even look fazed. I’m not sure they correctly heard us. I’m not sure if they see the beer in front of me. I see their eyes start to believe the story.
We are finishing dinner and the man comes over to us. He kneels down. I am in a food coma and do not feel like entertaining this 55-year-old male.
He begins to tell a story. I know this because his lips are moving but I don’t hear any words. He has the quietest voice. He is whispering. I am lip-reading. We are in Las Vegas, Nevada, America in a casino restaurant and this man is whispering a story to a table of THE five most annoying white girls. He is speaking and pointing at me. I hear something about his 25-year-old son.
Omg where is he, I’m thinking. Someone has a crush on me. This is exciting. Why me. He chose me out of all of us. Bring him out. Why are you hiding him.
I am lost in my thoughts about a Vegas romance with a stranger. I suddenly realize there is no 25-year-old but I cannot for the life of me hear what this man is saying because he is so quiet. He continues to look at me. Cayla and Augusta are nodding to everything he is saying and fake laughing.
We are two minutes into the story, when I realize he is giving me parenting advice. A stranger is giving me parenting advice because he really thinks I’m pregnant. He really believes we are here for a gender reveal party. He thinks I’m capable of being a mother to an actual living child flesh human.
There is a beer sitting in front of me as he gives me parenting advice.
I am trying to listen to the story closely so I know when to laugh and nod and groan. All I can make out is something about splashing his childson with water when he misbehaved so water boarding is real, everyone, and this man is suggesting to my actual face that I do it to my future fake kid who he thinks I am pregnant with.
There is still a beer sitting in front of me as he gives me parenting advice.
The story is going on and on. He is mentioning a waitress and a mall and I am so lost with what’s going on. I look around for a cop or magician or Criss Angel or someone who can make this man disappear. I cannot hear anything.
I begin to worry that my bullshitting has gone on too long.
Do I have a problem with lying? I’ve told everyone on this trip that my name is Ashley Madison. Should we (I) tell this man I’m not really pregnant? That would break his heart. I have a beer in front of me. What actual pregnant woman comes to Vegas.
He is turning around to look at his mistress (we assume). I quickly push the beer in front of Cayla’s plate, so I don’t break this man’s damn heart. This is Vegas. No one has time for a broken heart especially a man who offers up unsolicited parental advice. He asks us if we drove or flew from Dallas. We say flew. Can pregnant women fly? Or is all the pregnant juice over the 3-ounce limit? A beer and flying would surely kill a baby. Why is this man believing anything that comes out of any of our mouths? My friend Augusta is wearing an A$AP Rocky shirt, good god.
He is leaving. He is looking at me again. I am scared but he is confident. Why can’t he direct his stare to anyone else. Why was I the chosen fake pregnant woman for this running gag among my friends. He looks me dead in the eye and says, “Remember me and this advice in two years.”