We had a dart tournament for Toys for Tots this weekend. There was a Sweet Sixteen party scheduled over top of us. Turn out was low, so it wasn’t a big deal.
However, I overheard two of the party guests having a conversation in the ladies bathroom about whether one girl who looked about 15 years old was going to tell her boyfriend she was pregnant. This debate was bookended with the statement “well, if it turns out not to be his, I don’t want him telling the school I’m a slut.”
As I washed my hands and prepared to leave the bathroom all I could really think about was the fact that for all my problems, I’ve never had that one… on either end of the spectrum – no Teen girls to worry about coming home and telling me their pregnant and no concerns about ever having to tell a boyfriend I’m pregnant, but it might not be his.
Even in my thirties, those words give me the heebeejeebees. I’m married and I wouldn’t want to have to tell my husband – Hey, we just managed to achieve gold stars in the “people who shouldn’t breed” category! Which is probably what I would say after I finished sobbing.
But not being sure who the father is adds a whole new layer of intense sobbing to my mindset. That conversation would not go well. And I think she might have more problems than then the boyfriend telling people she’s a slut if it turns out not to be his. Like figuring out the real father. Do you flip a coin for paternity testing at that point?