Now it’s my turn to look at him like he’s crazy. “Who?”
Gavin shakes his head at me and I ignore him. This idea has already taken root inside my brain and it totally makes sense. I mean, Peter New is from Canada, which is like right by Ohio. I think. I could see him hanging out on college campuses and hooking up with my mom. I mean, I can’t actually see that part or else I’d have to pour bleach in my eyes, but it has to be true.
“Even if it’s not Peter New, it could definitely be Trevor Devall,” I think aloud. “I mean, he’s an older dude but my mom wouldn’t care about that. She’s an equal opportunity banger.”
When Gavin doesn’t reply, I turn my head to see he still has a blank look on his face.
“God, you are so out of the loop it’s scary. Trevor Devall is the voice of Hoity Toity. Not one of my favorites, but still a great character in his own right. He always makes good choices, he’s an Earth Pony and a major representative of the fashion world. Which would totally explain my attraction to Ava.”
“Alright, slow your roll there, Pinkie Pie,” Gavin interrupts. “I’m pretty sure your dad isn’t going to be someone who does voices for My Little Pony.”
“For your information, Pinkie Pie is a chick. It’s not biologically possible for a chick to be my dad, nice try. And hello? You thought my dad could be Robert Pitt or Brad Downey, Jr. or whatever,” I fire back.”
“That’s not…you know what? You’re right,” Gavin says, throwing his hands up in the in defeat. “Your dad could technically be anyone and you won’t know for sure unless you contact the sperm back.”
“I already contacted them.”
“HOLY SHIT!” Gavin and I shout in surprise at the same time as we turn to see Molly standing at the end of the couch staring down at her cell phone.
“Where the f**k did you come from? How long have you been here?” I demand.
She just shrugs without taking her eyes off of her phone. “I’ve been here all night.”
“Uh, all night?”
Molly finally looks up with a blank expression on her face. I swear to God she’s a f**king robot or cyborg or some shit.
“Yes, all night. I was here for the wood chipper incident and listened to you cry about a My Little Pony butt plug. You know I’m only nineteen, right? I’m in the prime of my youth and you just scarred me for life.”
Gavin turns away from Molly to look at me. “Wood chipper?”
I shake my head at him. “That’s for another time, my friend.”
Looking back at Molly, I get back to the important matter at hand. “You said you contacted them. Who did you contact?”
She rolls her eyes at me and if I wasn’t afraid that she’s a secret agent with the CIA and probably knows a hundred different ways to decapitate a man, I’d probably get lippy with her.
“I emailed the sperm back while you two Nancys were learning a new Friendship is Magic secret handshake,” she deadpans.
“There’s a secret handshake?” Gavin asks.
“NO! Ponies don’t have hands! And the MLP’s wouldn’t reduce themselves to such trivial group activities,” I inform them with disgust.
“Anyway,” Molly continues. “They emailed me right back and apologized for the mix-up. Turns out you were right. Dean O’Saur isn’t your real dad. They’ve been converting all of their old paper files to a new system and got your mom’s information switched with someone else’s. You have a meeting with them tomorrow at noon.”
And with that, Molly shoves her phone in her back pocket and heads out the front door.
“Well, the good news is, you don’t have to worry about sharing a meal of Crayolas at Dean’s house for the holidays. The bad news is, when I marry Charlotte, I’ll be related to Molly and I’ll always have to sleep with one eye open,” Gavin says with a sigh.
Looks like it’s back to the drawing board for me. Fingers crossed that the sperm bank gets it right this time. Otherwise, I’m heading to BronyCon and finding my dad on my own.
Chapter 15 – Stripper Glitter
“No, no, no, you’re doing it wrong. The Santa heads have to have blue eyes. Oh, my God, just let me do it.”
Aunt Jenny, Charlotte, my mom and I all put down our knives and slowly back away from the table as Aunt Claire curses and scowls at us.
She invites us over every year to help her decorate the cookies for Christmas day, and every year she bitches at us for doing it wrong.
“For the love of God, slutbag, it doesn’t matter if Santa has blue eyes or green eyes,” my mom complains.
We all watch as Aunt Claire stalks towards her, waving a butter knife dripping with red frosting that looks a hell of a lot like blood.
“I don’t tell you how to diddle yourself with vibrators, you don’t tell me how to decorate my cookies, f**k face!”
Before this gets out of hand and frosting starts flying around the kitchen, Charlotte and I separate the two of them. Aunt Claire goes back to making her cookies perfect while my mom makes everyone some coffee.
For right now, the two of us have called a truce. I’m not ready to move back home yet and she’s not ready to accept the fact that I don’t want to spend my days filing order forms for Pocket Pussies, but at least she’s stopped making snarky comments about my blog for the moment.
“So, any news on when my son is going to propose?” Aunt Claire asks nonchalantly.