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The Dreaded Facebook Pregnancy Announcement

It’s happened again. Another pregnancy announcement has rocked your Facebook feed. Face it, you’re getting old, and your grandmother loves to remind you at every holiday gathering just how much she would love to be a great grandma. But even grandma’s half-drunk, half-senile comments about the state of your love life don’t remind you quite as much of Father Time’s dreaded curse as a Facebook pregnancy announcement of just how single and not-21-anymore you are.

The grand Facebook announcement is nothing more than a shameless troll for “Likes” and comments like “OMG! That’s so exciting!!!!!” Especially because most of your friends are even less mature than you are, and the only time you see them anymore are alumni events at the sports bar or some other thinly veiled excuse to drink.

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Maybe the announcement comes from your old fraternity brother. You know, the guy who seemed to live out (yet somehow still pass) his undergrad years with a mild-to-hard buzz going 24/7. The guy who, at his first rush party, made Frank the Tank, Bluto and Van Wilder all look like minor leaguers. That guy is going to be a daddy in just a few short months. Though you’re sort of happy for him, you can’t help but laugh at the idea that instead of “Dude, hold my beer!” there’s a good chance you’ll be hearing “Dude, hold my baby!” Then you realize that means you might have to actually hold a baby and you start to have a mild panic attack.

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Maybe the announcement came from the high school sweethearts who have been together for ten years, married for three and already have two kids. He’s a corporate desk jockey just like you, except you’re fairly certain his salary is twice what you make. She got a teaching degree that promptly began gathering dust as soon as she got pregnant the first time. Since then, they’ve become the good old American family straight out of Pleasantville. You want to be happy for them, but try as you might, you can’t completely subdue the bitter jealousy you have for them and their perfect life. You top off your Walmart wine glass of Franzia and grab another slice of Hot-N-Ready in an effort to gorge the disdain out of your soul.

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As annoying as those two announcements may be, they are child’s play compared to the one every sane postgrad dreads. This announcement is easily identifiable with faux-cryptic photo and 29 exclamation points!!!!!!!!!!!!! For the next nine months your feed will be taken hostage by every detail of this girl’s gestation. From apps like BabyGaga that are annoying but harmless, to unnerving, color ultrasound images of the alien fetus, to her over-the-top claims that “Pregnancy makes your skin look AMAZEBALLS!” to every hypochondriac episode about the mortal danger every single food on God’s green Earth can pose to the baby. We get it, honey. You’re obsessed with the idea of being “barefoot and pregnant,” despite the fact that three weeks ago you were so broke you could barely feed your cat. If being knocked up makes you happy, that’s fine, but you pole-vaulted over the “TMI Line” when you began detailing your morning sickness and hemorrhoids. You finally get creeped out enough to hide her from your news feed once she starts posting about things like placenta photo frames. Immediately after that, you private message her boyfriend/husband and ask if there’s such a thing as PII (Pregnancy Induced Insanity).

Despite the fact that your Facebook friends are excited about becoming parents – or at least pretending to be excited instead of shitting their pants in fear – the more you think about the idea, the stronger the urge to visit your local dive for $3 well night grows. There are tons of reasons you’re not ready to be a parent, but let’s face it, your refusal to give up “Thirsty Thursdays” ranks way higher on the list than your apathy toward child-proofing your apartment.

Here’s the thing: if you’re not ready to have kids…Don’t. Have. Kids. You don’t need me to validate your belief that booze and sex will make you happier than kids. Enjoy your child endangering apartment, your irresponsible lifestyle, and whatever else. Just remember, later down the line if you change your mind and decide to pop a couple out: show some restraint on social media. I may pretend to be happy for you, but in all honesty, I really don’t care.

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Spaceman Spiff

Now a graduate with a few years of business "experience", Spiff didn't exactly turn into the interplanetary explorer extraordinaire he had hoped to become. Instead, he spends his days as a cynical desk jockey, moonlighting as a Contributing Writer for PGP and marching ever closer to the big 3-0, which has only fueled his transition from quarter-life crisis straight into thrisis.

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