Lies That Chelsea Handler Told Me - Chelsea's Family, Friends [15]
As for the actual lies Chelsea has told me, some people reading this may think I am incredibly stupid, as I am often called by Chelsea Joy herself, but the lies she told me were all lies I was elated to hear. It never entered my mind that what she was telling me, as her steel blue eyes stared straight into my chocolate almond-shaped ones, wasn’t 100 percent fact. Chelsea was not only my very generous and fun boss, she was my girlfriend, and we confided in each other all the time, so when she told me one Thursday morning that she was pregnant, I believed her.
I felt even more special when she swore me to secrecy. Of course, she was going to confide in me. I not only had given birth vaginally to two healthy boys, but was also a tender stepmother to my stepdaughter, Mackenzie. At the time, Chelsea was living with her boyfriend, Ted, who was divorced with two teenagers and pushing fifty-three.
THE GIRL WHO CRIED FIRST TRIMESTER
This is how it began. Every Thursday, Chelsea Lately provides us with an incredible spread, so we creatively call that day Bagel Thursday. One Thursday, as both Chelsea and I were scooping out the centers of our bagels—girls and gays, if you haven’t done this yet, do it! You slice the bagel, scoop out all the carb-infested middle, then toast what’s left, and pile on light cream cheese, tomatoes, and cucumbers, and a hint of fresh lemon juice. You get all the crunch and flavor with half the calories!—Chelsea casually turned to me with a plastic knife covered in cream cheese and said, “I took a pregnancy test today and it was positive. Can you pass me the lox? Why is it so orange? Never mind.”
“Wait, what? Are you serious?” I whispered.
“Yes, but don’t say anything to Ted,” she warned me.
“It’s not his?” I screeched as my pupils dilated two millimeters.
“No. Of course it’s his. I just don’t know if I want to keep it. Can you imagine if I had Ted’s baby? He won’t let me out of his sight now. Imagine if there were one of me in a baby form. Besides, I can’t do stand-up comedy while pregnant. That would be disgusting. Really? I’m going to stand up in front of thousands of people eight months pregnant jumping up and down doing my masturbation bit? I don’t think so.”
At this point I was still open to having another baby, and if I were to have gotten pregnant, I absolutely would still have done stand-up while pregnant. Why the hell not?
“Chelsea, just think of all the new material you could do on ultrasounds and having to pee all the time and the excessive weight gain. It practically writes itself.” I imagined Chelsea with a Baby Bjorn strapped to her chest and a fat four-month-old with her same huge mouth looking out at me.
“Heather, calm down. Take it down a notch. I am not joking when I say I will not give up alcohol for nine months. If I’m pregnant—”
I cut her off. “Chelsea, there is no such thing as a false positive on even the cheapest of pregnancy tests. There are lots of false negatives but never a false positive. I once used one from the Ninety-nine Cent store that told me I was not pregnant when in fact I was already ten weeks along with Drake, but it doesn’t work the other way around. You have to tell Ted. He will be thrilled!” I said gleefully, imagining gray-haired dancing babies throughout the office. (Ted has very sexy salt-and-pepper hair.)
“Oh, my God, can you imagine Ted getting all involved in designing the baby’s room, bringing swatches of cribs and shit to the office for me to look at? Could anything be more annoying?” Chelsea said as she rolled her eyes.
“You don’t get swatches of cribs, Chelsea. It’s swatches of bedding and wallpaper, but they have these round cribs so any which way the baby rolls he or she can look out at your view