T- 252 The Baby Hunger Games

For those of you who wonder how you ended up a part of your family (who the heck made THAT choice???) here's a little newsflash- YOU did. Remember that the next time you think the stork dropped you in the wrong place, or that it wasn't your decision to live in this world. Take me, for example. Not long ago I was one of millions of unborn eager babies, yearning for the chance to get assigned some parents and come to the world. I know it's a weird concept, so let me explain how it works. We all hang out in heaven, millions of us, waiting for the chance to prove we are ready to experience life. The supply is overwhelmingly superior to the demand so there is a selection process. Think of it as the Baby Hunger Games meets Gladiator. I won't tell you what I had to do to prove I was R-E-A-D-Y , all I can say is I CRUSHED IT and here I am, in some woman's belly. four weeks in. Once we earn our spot we can make four requests regarding our destination and our parents. When I was asked for mine I stated the following (plus my reasoning in parentheses):

1. I want bicultural parents. (I feel it gives one an air of ...shall we say sophistication? to have more than one passport and speak more than one language.)

2.I don't want to go anywhere near the Taliban. (Those places are rough, especially if your gender is of the lamer variety.)

3.I want to have blond hair, so one of my parents must have the genetic coding to make this happen.

4.The procreational partners who produce me cannot under any circumstances be drug users. (I want to be smart, and go to Harvard. The spawn of junkies barely have enough brain cells to keep their eyes open, much less go to college.)

That's it. That's all I am allowed to ask for. I figure they make us stop narrowing it down at four, or we'd all be Kate Middleton's son.