“Don’t do it, it takes your DNA. Who knows what they do with it. It could be used for eugenic’s research,” she said as we walked towards Target. “Yeah but I don’t know who my biological mom is and thats the only way I can possibly find her.”
It came in the mail yesterday. The tube that you spit in so the lab people can send me back information on my ancestors.
A recent joke I used was, “I can’t date a white man until I know for sure we aren’t related.” There are men out there who have donated hundreds of sperm to women. Those kids are walking around the earth with no idea who their dad is. One of them could have married their half-brother or sister.
Not me. I have stuck to the non-caucasian humans for the most part. Watch my ancestors be fifty percent hispanic. That hair came from somewhere and my secret intentions will have failed once again (eye roll/Get the joke!).
I stared at the box for a while. I still haven’t spit in the tube. It has taken me a decade to finally order the thing. If my biological mom were alive she would be about 68. There could be no information at all except my ethnicity percentage (or whatever it is called). Either way, I’ve got to spit in a tube tonight.