Naturally, because I carefully peed into a pint mug this morning, and put said mug aside for testing purposes, there was a trace of half-hearted, brownish spotting on the paper when I wiped.
But I had already unwrapped the pee-stick (another little internet cheapo pee-stick of doom), so I dunked, counted, laid it down, and stomped off to get tea and check my email. I went back after about three minutes, saw it was negative, and stomped quite hard on my way to the computer and my tea. I let H know it was negative by bellowing ‘negative!’ at him as he wandered past in his jim-jams. Me classy. Mmm.
About an hour later, I remembered there was a wet stick and a mug of pee lurking in the bathroom, and decided I had better dispose of them, really, as there is slobbishness and there is Holy Hell, What Is Wrong With You? I went in.
And then I called out, in a wobbly and probably unnaturally shrill voice, ‘H, could you come in here a minute?’. And H entered the bathroom also, and from four feet away spake thusly: ‘Blimey, that looks like a faint second line.’
And we hugged, in a very tremulous way, for quite some time. And then I told us both quite firmly not to be so bloody silly.
Because, can it possibly count, if it was negative at 3 minutes, and vaguely thinking about it at an hour? Peeonastick.com is very stern about the dangers of looking at pee-sticks after the 10 minute mark. I do not know if this stupid little fuzzy ghost of a line came up before or after 10 minutes, because I was studiously ignoring it from the next room. For an hour. Shitshitshitshit.
The obvious thing to do, was test another stick before I poured the pee away. This, as expected, occurred to me as a possibility while I was washing the pee-mug. ‘Try again tomorrow,’ says H cheerfully, missing the point entirely, bless him, which is not entirely surprising as a quivering jelly of a woman is not the best person to explain scientific method as applied to HPTs.
I have spent an unfeasible amount of time today hunting for spotting. There has been no more at all.
I feel like I’m waiting for my exam results.
First person to congratulate me will get a sharp slap. I’m sorry, but they will. No dancing until the 44 Pee-Sticks of Doom have been beaten into unambiguous submission. Which they haven’t, not by a long chalk, and I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t let H talk me out of ram-raiding the chemist for every single brand of early HPT they possess.