The Unborn Royal

In today’s torturous news, Kate Middleton is pregnant. This makes sense because she’s 30, and in order to have kids that don’t look like animal-human hybrids, it’s important to get knocked up by 32 at the very latest. I could tell that she was with child as soon as she stepped out in that green dress and new haircut last week, but that’s just because I have a sixth sense for pregnancy and weight gain, and her hairstylist texted my hairstylist that she totally barfed during a hot oil treatment (morning sickness). The thing is, I don’t really know how Kate’s pregnancy is making me feel, and my therapist is ignoring my phone calls, so I’m going to lay out the topics I was hoping to discuss with her to you psychos instead in an attempt to work through this confusing time:

Do I care?

Does Harry care?

Will this baby be chic?

What color will its hair be?

Is it a boy or a girl?

I hope it’s a girl.

Am I old?

Do I drink too much?

Should I try to get pregnant soon?

Can I get pregnant if I haven’t had my period in six months?

Am I already pregnant?

Will Kate get fat?

Does Kate work out?

Will Kate’s body change and morph into a post-pregnancy nightmare body?

Her hair is going to be even shinier now.

Will is getting balder by the day.

Are they going to stay together, or will their hair stories tear them apart?

Who will this baby marry?

I hope this baby is into older women.

I hope this baby is a lesbian.

I hope I can find a suitable surrogate.

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