Testing, testing

I peed on a stick again this morning, in a display of flagrant disregard for economic prudence.

Wasting two tests in one week when I categorically know I'm not pregnant is really silly, but I helped my friend move house earlier today and knew I'd be lifting a lot of heavy boxes, so I had to be sure. It would have been more foolish not to check. Or at least that's what I've told myself to justify my profligacy.

I knew the test would be negative, and of course it was. In fact, I didn't take it as diligently as I usually do. My pre-test preparations usually involve re-reading the instructions (which I could probably quote verbatim right now, having studied them so many times, but there's that pesky obsessive-compulsive streak again. I'm like the smug kid in the exam who knows the set text off by heart but still takes the time to read through it carefully, while everyone else is flipping through pages and scratching answers into the paper with increasing hysteria).

I take extra care to pee only onto the furry bit at the end, for exactly the recommended number of seconds, and ensure I keep the test pointing downwards until I've replaced the cap. My OCD streak then flashes once more, as I have a habit of placing the test reverently on the bathroom floor and covering it with a towel or a piece of loo roll until sufficient time has elapsed that I may look at the result. I find this method allows me to hope for longer. It's just too depressing to watch the non-development of the blue cross in the window, because I understand from women who've had positive tests that the relevant line appears IMMEDIATELY, in bold technicolour.

Anyway, this morning's session had none of this assiduous attention to detail. I splashed wee onto the stick - all of it, not just the fuzzy bit; it was like Niagara Falls in a hurricane - with an attitude of brazen indifference. I hurled the test onto the floor in a cavalier fashion, and gave it a hard stare that would have made Paddington proud as the blank window stayed blank. I then snorted, chucked it in the bin, ripped the cardboard packet in half for good measure, and jumped into the shower. For all that, though, I still cried.