I insisted my dates were correct, but they weren't prepared to go with that. Another doctor then gave me a brief exam and agreed that I was closer to ...eventeen weeks not thirteen. I did not understand how they concluded that. They then informed me that they were sorry, that I was too far along to carry on with the procedure.As I was beyond fourteen weeks, and that my dates must have been wrong. They then informed me there was a different procedure that could be done up to twenty weeks, it was. It's payday again and my monthly ritual begins, the tape measure tells it's own story. 40 - 30 - 42, my bust is still holding up but I have lost inches everywhere else; time for some new knicks again. For the first time I try on those Jeans, hey I can get in them, even if I can't do them up. I'm feeling good about myself now, and I have noticed men looking at me again, I've missed that; and I got a date. Bill from sales has asked me out for a drink. I take care to dress ok, using one of my new. ..and the big sack below it, once more soaked with beer, dripping...but this time he had something else to grab his attention--the cavernous opening at the end of the man's shorts on his left leg.The bar wasn't lit brightly, so the gaping hole at the hem of the shorts created by the man's tool was mostly dark. But Don could make something at the top, just inside the edge of the fabric…it was round, with a big split at the bottom. It was as big as a fucking small orange.Don didn't need to be. Bored as fuck and really not into the ton of work she was throwin' on us. I turned to my friend Josh and said, "Man, this bitch is murderin' us with all this damn work." He laughed, a little too audible (I hated him at first for his loud ass, but thanked him later on). "Well, care to share what is so funny, Mr. Hinson?" said Ms. Hannah. And of course me being the bad ass had to be an ass, "Yeah, I was just tellin' my classmate how you is murderin' us with all this DAMN work." That got a loud.