So, apparently "Snooki" can get pregnant but I (and millions of other of women) can't. I weep, my fellow infertiles. I weep.
Apparently, we should be out partying like it's 1999 five days a week(yes, I am showing my age), drinking Long Island Ice Teas by the fishbowl, wearing too tight mini skirts with furry boots, tanning ourselves a lovely Carotene hue and buying truckloads of bumpits. See, we've been doing it all wrong this entire time - cutting out caffeine, doing yoga, going to bed at 10pm, and injecting ourselves full of hormones.
Every once in a while, some character like her finds herself without (and sometimes with) a condom or birth control and "poof!", she's a mommy-to-be. It boggles the mind and starts to make you call into question other seemingly unfair realities of life like why chocolate lava cake isn't fat free and why we didn't come up with the idea for Spanx even though we cut off our control top panty hose to wear with our prom dress in 1991 (just jealous of the brilliance of Ms. Blakely; she is quite awesome and it's so cool that a woman of my era has made the billionaire list).
The only funny thing from this news was last week's skit on SNL. I thought it was priceless, and Mr. Hamm ain't so bad on the eyes, either.
Snooki, a mom... perhaps a forebearer to the apolcalypse - or at least a very scary spring and summer as we see what maternity clothing (or lack thereof) she wears. I can only imagine what this poor kiddo will be named. Maybe "The Conception" or Baby Wow?
Full disclosure: I did spend about 10 minutes researching my Snooki intel on several fine entertainment Web sites.