Keep Calm and Carry Plan B

You’ve been fake sleeping for about 30 minutes now, hoping he’d wake up - but you can no longer fight it - you’re near sober, it’s daylight and there you lie - in unfamiliar sheets.  You glance to the bedside table and notice some mail, you nonchalantly look at the address to refresh your memory as to what part of town you ended up in....West Village - nice.  Why is the light so bright; make it stop.  Can I sneak to the bathroom to re-apply some bronzer - fuck it, you saw his bathroom last night and noted he uses Axe Vice, he clearly doesn’t give that much of a shit. You attempt to move around, send some text so your phone vibrates and wakes this casanova up.  No luck.  So you decide to cling the sheet next to your body, because suddenly you’re shy - I mean sober, while you gather and re-apply your clothes from the night before, how did your underwear get over there?....Yes, that sheer top with the cut outs in the back is likely what got you into this situation, don’t worry - it’s a great day time blouse, if you’re name is Vivian and you’re in Pretty Woman.

Finally he wakes up.  It’s time for MST....#MorningSmallTalk....usually something like:

“I think I’m still drunk.”

“We had a good time last night” (duh)

“Big week this week” (what?)

“I feel awful.”

“I can’t even.”

“Can you believe so and so got kicked?”


“Did we.....”

His hesitation is all you need to know, neither of your are sure if you totally used a condom....the countdown begins....72 hours to self abort.

An excuse jumps into your head....suddenly you have a community service project, a family member’s birthday BBQ, you have to help your cousin with a science project....anything that will get you to CVS before that shot clock has expired.

You do that awkward dance at the door, are we hugging, are we kissing, are we giving each other a high five or am I just pretending I’m texting - either way, can’t wait for next week’s date*.

*If dates occur between the hours of’ve been on a ton of dates, Carrie Bradshaw.

You’re walking, this is the only time in your life you’ve thought...fuck. I wish I was a runner.

All the scenarios are going through your head....

“What would this kid look like?”

“What would our story be?”

“Is he father material?”

“How will I tell him?”

“Will my parents like him?”

Maybe you start to picture your life together in suburban New York, white picket fence, summers on Montauk, you cue up How Sweet it Is to Be Loved by You....suddenly, a Citi-biker almost hits you and snaps you back into reality....and you remember you just went on payment plan for Coachella, how the fuck are your going to support a kid...further more you just looked at mail to figure out where you woke up - what wisdom do you plan to bestow upon this child to guide him/her through the world.

You start to jog, in last night’s heels.  You arrive to your Candyland.  The pharmacist doesn’t even need to ask you what you need - she knows, but as a courtesy she says, “what can I get you?” As she’s reaching for Plan can’t even muster up the words through the just nod, tears forming because you think, “I hope this doesn’t overdraft my bank account,” and you realize you just spend your brunch money on Plan B....Plan B-runch.

Before you have even left the store, you Keep Calm and Take Plan B (don’t you think that should be the design on the package btw?)  You still have the package in hand as you walk outside and smell that sweet smell of McDonald’s hashbrowns, coming from those magical arches to heaven 2 doors down, you skip merrily like a puppy at Christmas, place an order for a sausage, egg and cheese with a hashbrown - no OJ, you’ll vom because you don’t taste OJ, you taste vodka.

Before you even turn from the counter you hide that shit in your purse, it’s way more shameful showing the world your just went to McDonald’s solo than it is admitting you just popped Plan B....don’t be a mess girl.

You continue your stroll home, your Sunday Anxiety is setting in....what Rom Com will you watch today?  Maybe it’s time for He’s Just Not That Into You....or Annie Hall.

Side Note:  Plan B should come with a voucher for a breakfast sandwich called the Hey Girl Voucher....just a thought.

This story courtesy of the awesome people at @WaitWhatTotes.