Now, first of all, lets be clear. I don't turn thirty until September. Mid September at that. Well, perhaps not everyone would call the 2nd 'mid' September, but for my purposes, I shall. As you know, thats a very, very, very long ways away. I still have plenty of time left in my twenties. Time which I shall spend clubbing and wearing short Tshirts and getting body peircings.
But anyways, that said, today I had a bit of "Oh, God, I really am getting old" moment, which has caused much distress. I found out today that it is absolutely not cool to wear a jean jacket with jeans, a little piece of fashion wisdom to which I had been previously completely unaware. The really bad thing is that I could STILL be unaware if not for the offhand remark of my employer today. See SHE was going to be fool enough to wear a jean jacket with her jeans today. We sometimes wear jeans to work on Fridays. One advantage to working on 20th Street. Anyways, she was very nearly out the door when her 16 year old daughter caught her. "You're NOT going to work like that?" She asked, in horror. My boss was perplexed. She had thought that her ensemble was rather hip. But apparently, you would be an absolute LAUGHINGSTOCK to be seen in public like that. Gulp. Because I actually, in honesty, have been seen in public like that. How was I to know it was a fashion disaster? No one told me, but then who wants to tell someone that they're a laugingstock, unless your Simon Cowell? I was like, but I thought that was the point of having a jean jacket is to wear it with jeans?? But no, you should absolutely, never, ever do this. Except, maybe, for the possibility of a rodeo, at which point the rules are a bit blurred. But rodeos really aren't cool anyways in the first place. So to compensate for this, I am going to work harder to get cool. This is probably why I haven't had my big break yet or been featured on Lifestyles of The Rich and Famous. That and the fact that I'm neither rich nor famous, at least by tradional definitions of rich or famous.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Thursday, March 29, 2007
On the Blog again
Well, here I am again. I took a short sabatical to read my new book, Shopaholic & Baby. Sadly for me, the magical journey is over. I must wait another year now before another Becky Bloomwood story comes out. I feel like Bex and I are old friends. I'm going to miss her. Oh God. I can't talk about. Its too emotional. I'll give you a topic: discuss amongst yourselves. Post 9/11 Patriotism
All right. Feeling better now. I just arrived from my 'three way conference' with Gage's teacher. Surprisingly, it went better than I thought. We're well passed the forged note incident (don't ask) and things are looking up. He's reading and spelling above grade level. His math is very strong. Alls they really said was that he needed to print neater. Whoopty. Let me tell you I know plenty of people who could stand to print better-- and they're the doctors I work for. They also said that the only trouble he seems to be having in school is Girl Trouble. They said that he's a real charmer and the girls all seem to hang off him quite a bit. Yikes. I could, potentially, be a grandmother in just a few short years. I think one of my hairs has literally just turned gray.
And speaking of hair, what do you make of American Idol on Tuesday? That damn Sanjaya freak is still on there. I simply cannot believe it. Its almost to the point where its painful to watch because the guy is making a damn fool of himself. Someone should just tell him. He's becoming a national joke. Worse than KFed. Is that show rigged or what? Honestly, if it weren't so blasted entertaining I might just stop watching it all together.
The other big news around here is that Payton got new socks. Purple, yet. Her favorite color. You should have seen how excited she was. It was like waking up on Christmas morning to a shiny new bike under the tree. Shrieking and dancing. I said to Geoff "I think our kids must be deprived". We buy them socks and they have a fit. Perhaps this new budget we're on isn't quite cutting it.
But back to ME, the subject of this blog. I applied for that job. It closes on Friday, so I should here within the next week or two. I am not really holding my breath. I almost hope I don't get called because I don't know if I can take the stress of a blimey interview. I HATE job interviews. Even though beforehand I do this meditation thing and deep breathing and guided imagery stuff, not terribly differnt from Stuart Smileys Daily Affirmation, I always get nervous as soon as I walk in the room and see the panel of people, all with their pens posed and business suits on. But on the up side, it might deliver me from this evil that is nursing. Nursing is pretty OK by and large. I mean the pay is OK, and the work is pretty stimulating. But there are times when I just want to throw my hands in the air and head for the hills. Like yesterday was a prime example. I will not go into the details, but let me say that it involved a distressed patient with a colostomy, a kidney basin, rubber gloves and me in the thick of it. Anyways, sometimes I would just love a change of pace. I mean, couldn't we just leave it all behind, maybe start a dairy ranch somewhere and live a pure, simple life (where there are no colostomies)? I could just see myself as a milk maid, enjoying the sun all day, spending my time outside, surrounded by children and animals. I'd be wearing a nice floppy sun bonnet and cotton dress. Maybe with a sublte floral print. Aah. We can always have our daydreams. But I'd better go now. Reality beckons. Thanks for reading.
All right. Feeling better now. I just arrived from my 'three way conference' with Gage's teacher. Surprisingly, it went better than I thought. We're well passed the forged note incident (don't ask) and things are looking up. He's reading and spelling above grade level. His math is very strong. Alls they really said was that he needed to print neater. Whoopty. Let me tell you I know plenty of people who could stand to print better-- and they're the doctors I work for. They also said that the only trouble he seems to be having in school is Girl Trouble. They said that he's a real charmer and the girls all seem to hang off him quite a bit. Yikes. I could, potentially, be a grandmother in just a few short years. I think one of my hairs has literally just turned gray.
And speaking of hair, what do you make of American Idol on Tuesday? That damn Sanjaya freak is still on there. I simply cannot believe it. Its almost to the point where its painful to watch because the guy is making a damn fool of himself. Someone should just tell him. He's becoming a national joke. Worse than KFed. Is that show rigged or what? Honestly, if it weren't so blasted entertaining I might just stop watching it all together.
The other big news around here is that Payton got new socks. Purple, yet. Her favorite color. You should have seen how excited she was. It was like waking up on Christmas morning to a shiny new bike under the tree. Shrieking and dancing. I said to Geoff "I think our kids must be deprived". We buy them socks and they have a fit. Perhaps this new budget we're on isn't quite cutting it.
But back to ME, the subject of this blog. I applied for that job. It closes on Friday, so I should here within the next week or two. I am not really holding my breath. I almost hope I don't get called because I don't know if I can take the stress of a blimey interview. I HATE job interviews. Even though beforehand I do this meditation thing and deep breathing and guided imagery stuff, not terribly differnt from Stuart Smileys Daily Affirmation, I always get nervous as soon as I walk in the room and see the panel of people, all with their pens posed and business suits on. But on the up side, it might deliver me from this evil that is nursing. Nursing is pretty OK by and large. I mean the pay is OK, and the work is pretty stimulating. But there are times when I just want to throw my hands in the air and head for the hills. Like yesterday was a prime example. I will not go into the details, but let me say that it involved a distressed patient with a colostomy, a kidney basin, rubber gloves and me in the thick of it. Anyways, sometimes I would just love a change of pace. I mean, couldn't we just leave it all behind, maybe start a dairy ranch somewhere and live a pure, simple life (where there are no colostomies)? I could just see myself as a milk maid, enjoying the sun all day, spending my time outside, surrounded by children and animals. I'd be wearing a nice floppy sun bonnet and cotton dress. Maybe with a sublte floral print. Aah. We can always have our daydreams. But I'd better go now. Reality beckons. Thanks for reading.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
GREAT NEWS
You are simply not going to believe this. My favorite author in the whole wide world has a BRAND new book out. I didn't even know there was a book coming out. You know how in some books at the end they say when to expect the next book. Well the last one I read (Undomestic Goddess- summer of '06- a ten out of ten) didn't say ANYTHING about an up and coming book. But I happened to find myself downtown today when I saw it. I was just walking past Coles and there it was- a big shelf full of them. Fate. So its out in hardcover, which is a bit of a pill, financially speaking ($30), but then I noticed the sign 30% OFF. So that just sealed the deal right there. I could save nine dollars AND be entertained for HOURS. My heart was just pounding. I bought right then and there. Which, inidentally, I'm not really supposed to because I've put myelf on an allowance of $200/month, which you might think sounds very reasonable, but I tell you it adds up very fast. Yesterday, my little field trip to Superstore cost me $67. And my shopping trip today (all I bought was two books and a Booster Juice) was like $70. So I'm already half over my monthly budget in two days. But that's not the point. The point is, this book is totally FAB. And for being a loyal reader, I am going to post the first page on here. Enjoy. I am already on page forty. I want to read it and read it and read it, but then at the same time I want to slow down and really enjoy it, because I know it will be over soon and I'll have to wait six more months for another book. Here's the first page. Its called Shopoholic & Baby
OK. Don't panic. Everythings going to be fine. Of course it is.
Of COURSE it is.
"If you could lift up your top, Mrs. Brandon." The sonographer has a pleasant, professional air as she looks down at me. "I need to apply some jelly to your abdomen before we start the scan."
"Absolutely!" I say without moving a muscle. "The thing is I'm just a teeny bit... nervous."
I'm lying on a bed at Chelsea and Westminster hospital, tense with anticipation. ANy minute now, Luke and I will see our baby on the screen for the first time since it was just a teeny blob. I still can't quite believe it. In fact, I still haven't quite gotten over the fact that I'm pregnant. In nineteen weeks time, I, Becky Brandon, nee Bloomwood... am going to be a mother!! A mother!
Luke's my husband, by the way. We've just been married for a year and this is a one hundreed percent genuine honey moon baby. We traveled loads on our honeymoon, but I've pretty much worked out that we concieved it while we were staying in this gorgeous resort in Sri Lanka, called Unawauna, all orhcids and bamboo trees and beautiful views.
"Unawauana Brandon"
Miss Unawauana Orchid Bamboo Tree Brandon.
Hmm. I'm not sure what Mum would say.
Isn't it great?? Don't you just love it?? Well, perhaps you will get lucky and I post more of it. Or perhaps I will raffle it off to the highest bidder once I'm done reading it. Well, have a pleasant day. I must get back to the book.
OK. Don't panic. Everythings going to be fine. Of course it is.
Of COURSE it is.
"If you could lift up your top, Mrs. Brandon." The sonographer has a pleasant, professional air as she looks down at me. "I need to apply some jelly to your abdomen before we start the scan."
"Absolutely!" I say without moving a muscle. "The thing is I'm just a teeny bit... nervous."
I'm lying on a bed at Chelsea and Westminster hospital, tense with anticipation. ANy minute now, Luke and I will see our baby on the screen for the first time since it was just a teeny blob. I still can't quite believe it. In fact, I still haven't quite gotten over the fact that I'm pregnant. In nineteen weeks time, I, Becky Brandon, nee Bloomwood... am going to be a mother!! A mother!
Luke's my husband, by the way. We've just been married for a year and this is a one hundreed percent genuine honey moon baby. We traveled loads on our honeymoon, but I've pretty much worked out that we concieved it while we were staying in this gorgeous resort in Sri Lanka, called Unawauna, all orhcids and bamboo trees and beautiful views.
"Unawauana Brandon"
Miss Unawauana Orchid Bamboo Tree Brandon.
Hmm. I'm not sure what Mum would say.
Isn't it great?? Don't you just love it?? Well, perhaps you will get lucky and I post more of it. Or perhaps I will raffle it off to the highest bidder once I'm done reading it. Well, have a pleasant day. I must get back to the book.
Domestic Drudgery
Here is a breakdown of how I have spent my days off:
Friday: 5:30-6:30 Grocery shopping (after working a full 8hr day)
6:30-7:00 Unloading groceries. The dog runs away. Chasing the dog. Trying to keep the dogs away from the groceries. Trying to keep the kids away from the groceries. Suddenly they are like children from the wild, ripping through the bags, grabbing at items as though they have never seen food before. "Oh we've got cookies", tearing into the cookies and then abandoning them for something else "Oh we have strawberries". The strawberries will meet a similar fate once they discover the fruit roll ups.
7:00-7:04 Trying to wolf down a bun quickly.
7:05-8:00 Putting away groceries while simultaneously chucking half the contents of the refrigerator. Moldy tomato from two weeks ago. Spaghetti from who knows when.
8:00-8:15 Cleaning up various biological spills that have occured while I have been occupied in the kitchen. Payton has peed her pants. Baxter has crapped on the floor. JD has vomited from eating a stray strawberry.
8:15 Yelling at the kids that they have had enough to eat.
8:16 Getting Payton to bed.
9:00: Collapsing into bed. Too tired to read or watch TV
Saturday
0740: Letting Baxter out of his kennel. Taking him outside.
0745: Getting up with Payton
0800: Loading the dishwasher
0815: Making Payton waffles.
0830: Putting in the first of umpteen loads of laundry.
0845: Doing dishes
0900: Brushing my teeth.
0902: Making Gage toast and cereal
0905: Unloading the dishwasher
0920: Putting the laundry in the dryer
0940: Cleaning up the juice Payton spilled while I was downstairs.
1000: Work on resume
1030: Laundry
1130: Making lunch
1200: Laying Payton down for a nap
1205: Laying down for a nap
1:00: Trying to ignore the fact that I think Payton is awake.
1:05 Getting Payton out of bed
1:06 Realizing (with horror) that she's had a rather nasty BM (thanks to the mineral oil we started her on- for regularity). Worse yet- she's attempted to change her own diaper. She comes in my room carrying a diaper full of sh**. Its all over her room and down her legs, etc.
1:07: Running an impromptu bath for Payton
1:10 Putting shitty clothes and sheets in the laundry. Just when the mound starts to look reasonable, I throw another heap on top of it.
1:15 Getting Payton out of the tub.
2:00 Field trip. I HAVE to get out of this house!!!! We go to Superstore (how exciting!). We buy only the neccesities- Dora pops and Dill pickle chips. Also, must buy Lorrie those pictures she's been crying about.
3:00 Visiting with Aunty Lorrie and Unlce Trent
4:00 Return home. Make stuffing for the chicken.
4:30 Stuff chicken and put it in the oven.
5:00 Load disher and do dishes from breakfast/lunch
5:30 Laundry
5:45 Peel pototoes
6:00 Wash kitchen floor
6:15 Make gravy. Cut cheese and pickles. Wash and set table.
6:30 Serve supper.
6:40 Quick walk.
7:00 Clear the table. Put dishes in dishwasher.
7:30 Watch TV
8:30 Put Payton to bed
9:00 Bath and bed
9:30 Catch a few minutes of SNL before falling asleep
Sunday
8:00 Convince Geoff that it's his turn to wake up with Payton
9:30 Try to ignore the fact that the kids have all climbed into bed with me, as well as the animals.
9:35 Wake up. Discover dear husband. Snoring on couch.
9:40 Unload dishwasher and do supper dishes from last night Defrost chicken for supper tonight.
1000: Continue with the laundry
10:30: Make porridge and toast for the kids breakfast
10:40: Clean up dog puke under the table.
10:45 Brush teeth and put hair in pony tail
10:50: Payton pees herself. Clean urine off the bathroom floor.
1100: Go on blog to vent.
Here is a rundown of my husbands weekend:
Friday: 6:00 Make sandwich
7:00 Hockey game
9:00 Beer and darts with Kris
Saturday: 1000: Wake up, stretch, fart, make a big production of being exhausted.
1015: Shower, groom
1100: Go to work
2:30: Return from work. Nap on couch.
4:00 Simpsons
5:00 Smoke break.
6:00 Hockey game
6:30 Supper
7:30 Beer with Trent
9:00 TV
Sunday 8:00 Wake up with Payton. Put Treehouse on. Lay down on couch.
9:00 Fall asleep on couch
1000: Go back to bed for a nap after such a hectic morning.
Is it me, or is there something wrong with this picture?? And I know what you're probably thinking, you're thinking "you should talk to him." But I do. I said to him just the other day, I said, "There's too much work to do in this house" and he says "Maybe we need a bigger house" and I said "No, what we need is more people doing the work." and he's like "Oh, yeah, thats right, because you do EVERYTHING and I do NOTHING. Right? I'm just lazy and good for nothing. I know this speech." So then what can I say? He THINKS that he helps. Yes, he may on occasion put a fork in the dishwasher or change Payton or make a meal. But this hardly helps. The most frustrating thing is that I've been busting my ass all weekend cleaning, but guess what?? The house is still a MESS!!! It seems that the most I can do is hold off major domestic chaos. But I'd better go. The laundry beckons.
Friday: 5:30-6:30 Grocery shopping (after working a full 8hr day)
6:30-7:00 Unloading groceries. The dog runs away. Chasing the dog. Trying to keep the dogs away from the groceries. Trying to keep the kids away from the groceries. Suddenly they are like children from the wild, ripping through the bags, grabbing at items as though they have never seen food before. "Oh we've got cookies", tearing into the cookies and then abandoning them for something else "Oh we have strawberries". The strawberries will meet a similar fate once they discover the fruit roll ups.
7:00-7:04 Trying to wolf down a bun quickly.
7:05-8:00 Putting away groceries while simultaneously chucking half the contents of the refrigerator. Moldy tomato from two weeks ago. Spaghetti from who knows when.
8:00-8:15 Cleaning up various biological spills that have occured while I have been occupied in the kitchen. Payton has peed her pants. Baxter has crapped on the floor. JD has vomited from eating a stray strawberry.
8:15 Yelling at the kids that they have had enough to eat.
8:16 Getting Payton to bed.
9:00: Collapsing into bed. Too tired to read or watch TV
Saturday
0740: Letting Baxter out of his kennel. Taking him outside.
0745: Getting up with Payton
0800: Loading the dishwasher
0815: Making Payton waffles.
0830: Putting in the first of umpteen loads of laundry.
0845: Doing dishes
0900: Brushing my teeth.
0902: Making Gage toast and cereal
0905: Unloading the dishwasher
0920: Putting the laundry in the dryer
0940: Cleaning up the juice Payton spilled while I was downstairs.
1000: Work on resume
1030: Laundry
1130: Making lunch
1200: Laying Payton down for a nap
1205: Laying down for a nap
1:00: Trying to ignore the fact that I think Payton is awake.
1:05 Getting Payton out of bed
1:06 Realizing (with horror) that she's had a rather nasty BM (thanks to the mineral oil we started her on- for regularity). Worse yet- she's attempted to change her own diaper. She comes in my room carrying a diaper full of sh**. Its all over her room and down her legs, etc.
1:07: Running an impromptu bath for Payton
1:10 Putting shitty clothes and sheets in the laundry. Just when the mound starts to look reasonable, I throw another heap on top of it.
1:15 Getting Payton out of the tub.
2:00 Field trip. I HAVE to get out of this house!!!! We go to Superstore (how exciting!). We buy only the neccesities- Dora pops and Dill pickle chips. Also, must buy Lorrie those pictures she's been crying about.
3:00 Visiting with Aunty Lorrie and Unlce Trent
4:00 Return home. Make stuffing for the chicken.
4:30 Stuff chicken and put it in the oven.
5:00 Load disher and do dishes from breakfast/lunch
5:30 Laundry
5:45 Peel pototoes
6:00 Wash kitchen floor
6:15 Make gravy. Cut cheese and pickles. Wash and set table.
6:30 Serve supper.
6:40 Quick walk.
7:00 Clear the table. Put dishes in dishwasher.
7:30 Watch TV
8:30 Put Payton to bed
9:00 Bath and bed
9:30 Catch a few minutes of SNL before falling asleep
Sunday
8:00 Convince Geoff that it's his turn to wake up with Payton
9:30 Try to ignore the fact that the kids have all climbed into bed with me, as well as the animals.
9:35 Wake up. Discover dear husband. Snoring on couch.
9:40 Unload dishwasher and do supper dishes from last night Defrost chicken for supper tonight.
1000: Continue with the laundry
10:30: Make porridge and toast for the kids breakfast
10:40: Clean up dog puke under the table.
10:45 Brush teeth and put hair in pony tail
10:50: Payton pees herself. Clean urine off the bathroom floor.
1100: Go on blog to vent.
Here is a rundown of my husbands weekend:
Friday: 6:00 Make sandwich
7:00 Hockey game
9:00 Beer and darts with Kris
Saturday: 1000: Wake up, stretch, fart, make a big production of being exhausted.
1015: Shower, groom
1100: Go to work
2:30: Return from work. Nap on couch.
4:00 Simpsons
5:00 Smoke break.
6:00 Hockey game
6:30 Supper
7:30 Beer with Trent
9:00 TV
Sunday 8:00 Wake up with Payton. Put Treehouse on. Lay down on couch.
9:00 Fall asleep on couch
1000: Go back to bed for a nap after such a hectic morning.
Is it me, or is there something wrong with this picture?? And I know what you're probably thinking, you're thinking "you should talk to him." But I do. I said to him just the other day, I said, "There's too much work to do in this house" and he says "Maybe we need a bigger house" and I said "No, what we need is more people doing the work." and he's like "Oh, yeah, thats right, because you do EVERYTHING and I do NOTHING. Right? I'm just lazy and good for nothing. I know this speech." So then what can I say? He THINKS that he helps. Yes, he may on occasion put a fork in the dishwasher or change Payton or make a meal. But this hardly helps. The most frustrating thing is that I've been busting my ass all weekend cleaning, but guess what?? The house is still a MESS!!! It seems that the most I can do is hold off major domestic chaos. But I'd better go. The laundry beckons.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
More book
Well here is more of my book. I am simply too lazy to post a real blog right now. Enjoy!
The Immaculate Conception
-6-
My feet are in stirrups. There is an overweight balding man standing at the foot of the bed staring into my vagina. I’m looking at the ceiling, trying to be cool about. It’s no big thing. I do this sort of thing all the time. Sure.
“Kristina, I’m going to insert this catheter now. You might feel some slight cramping,” he says. I’m trying to just block it out. I scan the room quickly, looking for some support or something. But everything just looks so cold. So clinical. Probably because this is a clinic, I tell myself. Duh.
Ouch. What was that? A pain of some sort causes me to flinch.
I look at the man, baldy, whatever his name is. Dr. Lytchensomething. He’s concentrating very seriously on the matter at hand.
“The catheter is in situ,” he says, more to the team of people in the room rather than me, looking alternately back and forth between the ultrasound screen and my vulva. “Transferring the blastocytes now,” he continues.
Oh man. This is really, really, not how I considered this milestone taking place. Not in my wildest dreams. The stirrups, I admit, might have cropped up in some of my more exotic fantasies, particularly during the years when I as dating that pre med student who was thinking about Gynecology as a specialty. But certainly not the bald dude. Or the talk about catheters and blastocytes.
I’ll just try to think about something else. Like the war in the Middle East. The war in the Middle East… hmm.
Hmmm.
Mid.
Dle.
East.
Hmm. Funny, but nothing seems to becoming to mind. Note to self: must start watching more CNN.
“All right,” Lytchensomething says, snapping off his gloves. “They’re implanted.”
And then I realize. He said ‘they’. As in: plural. As in: more than one of the little buggers.
“They? What? How many?” I ask, dumbfounded, fumbling to get my feet out of the stirrups, to regain a modicum of dignity.
“All four of them.”
“Four? I’m sorry. There must be some kind of a mistake. Cynthia and I agreed on one. Only one.”
“Yes, but she had a change of heart. She said you were fully aware,” he said, looking puzzled. “In fact, all the paperwork is in order. You signed all the consent forms, which explain everything.”
The consent forms? Ah, he must be referring to those utterly inscrutable documents that were fourteen pages long with font small enough to require a magnifying glass. The forms that the lawyer shoved under my nose and said “sign here, here and here.” Those forms? My degree is in accounting, not law, so I pretty much skipped to the dollar figures in the document, effectively ignoring all the legal jargon.
Shit. Shit Fuck Shit. And now the little buggers were in there. Probably settling in, making themselves at home, watching Cribs and eating Doritos. Getting crumbs all over the place in my virgin uterus.
I feel sick. Is it too early for morning sickness? Yes, I think it is. But I really do feel sick. This isn’t good. What will I do?
My body. My figure. My bladder control.
All down the tubes.
Figuratively speaking.
The Immaculate Conception
-6-
My feet are in stirrups. There is an overweight balding man standing at the foot of the bed staring into my vagina. I’m looking at the ceiling, trying to be cool about. It’s no big thing. I do this sort of thing all the time. Sure.
“Kristina, I’m going to insert this catheter now. You might feel some slight cramping,” he says. I’m trying to just block it out. I scan the room quickly, looking for some support or something. But everything just looks so cold. So clinical. Probably because this is a clinic, I tell myself. Duh.
Ouch. What was that? A pain of some sort causes me to flinch.
I look at the man, baldy, whatever his name is. Dr. Lytchensomething. He’s concentrating very seriously on the matter at hand.
“The catheter is in situ,” he says, more to the team of people in the room rather than me, looking alternately back and forth between the ultrasound screen and my vulva. “Transferring the blastocytes now,” he continues.
Oh man. This is really, really, not how I considered this milestone taking place. Not in my wildest dreams. The stirrups, I admit, might have cropped up in some of my more exotic fantasies, particularly during the years when I as dating that pre med student who was thinking about Gynecology as a specialty. But certainly not the bald dude. Or the talk about catheters and blastocytes.
I’ll just try to think about something else. Like the war in the Middle East. The war in the Middle East… hmm.
Hmmm.
Mid.
Dle.
East.
Hmm. Funny, but nothing seems to becoming to mind. Note to self: must start watching more CNN.
“All right,” Lytchensomething says, snapping off his gloves. “They’re implanted.”
And then I realize. He said ‘they’. As in: plural. As in: more than one of the little buggers.
“They? What? How many?” I ask, dumbfounded, fumbling to get my feet out of the stirrups, to regain a modicum of dignity.
“All four of them.”
“Four? I’m sorry. There must be some kind of a mistake. Cynthia and I agreed on one. Only one.”
“Yes, but she had a change of heart. She said you were fully aware,” he said, looking puzzled. “In fact, all the paperwork is in order. You signed all the consent forms, which explain everything.”
The consent forms? Ah, he must be referring to those utterly inscrutable documents that were fourteen pages long with font small enough to require a magnifying glass. The forms that the lawyer shoved under my nose and said “sign here, here and here.” Those forms? My degree is in accounting, not law, so I pretty much skipped to the dollar figures in the document, effectively ignoring all the legal jargon.
Shit. Shit Fuck Shit. And now the little buggers were in there. Probably settling in, making themselves at home, watching Cribs and eating Doritos. Getting crumbs all over the place in my virgin uterus.
I feel sick. Is it too early for morning sickness? Yes, I think it is. But I really do feel sick. This isn’t good. What will I do?
My body. My figure. My bladder control.
All down the tubes.
Figuratively speaking.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Men in Black
Here is something interesting. I was out and about this weekend when here I find myself at my moms house. So she's busy in the kitchen with the eleven children she keeps, so I am left alone to fend for myself. Sigh. Such is the life. So I pick up a paper and start flipping throug it. I'm not really one for the paper. Its mostly boring stories about the economy and crap like that. If I wanted to know about the economy I would watch CNN. I don't even know what channel CNN is on and I intend to keep it that way. But, anyways, back to the story. So I'm flipping through the paper and this job pops out at me. Right now I am thinking about applying for. But I'm hesitant because a)I don't meet all of the requirements to a T b)I'm not confident in my ability to interview for such a job if called for c)I'm not confident in my ability to perform all of the responsiblities. However, having said that, I am still contemplating throwing in a resume anyways because a)whats the cost of a stamp anyways? b)it sounds like a pretty damn interesting job and c)check out the pay scale!
This is the posting, which I have had to painstakingly retype as it is not available on line.
Title: RCMP Criminal Intelligence Analyst
This is a civilian member position that will report to the officer in charge of Combined Special Forces Special Enforcement Unit.
Responsibilies:
1) Collecting, researching, evaluating and analyzing intelligence information to identify criminal trends and patterns and to develop analytical intelligence products
2) Preparing reports identifying or illustrating criminal group/individual associations and criminal trends.
3)Providing expert advice on complex issues, assessing intelligence and providing tactical and strategic analysis focused on local, provincial and federal criminal activity.
4) establishing a network of contacts in dientifying criminal trends and conducting intelligence analysis
5) participating in presentations, lectures and seminars as an expert resource and attending conferences and training courses.
Basic Requirements:
Language: English
Security: Eligible to hold Top Secret Security Clearance
Education: A bachelors degree from a recognized university
Experience:
--2+ years experience in research, writing, analyzing and editing documents.
--One+ years in a research, publishing or analytical environment
--One+ years experience in working with computers, in particular word processing, spreadsheets and database software.
Additional Abilities:
Above average oral and written communication skills
As a prerequisite, must successfully complete an examination in the required field of work.
Location: Saskatoon, SK
Salary: 67,446-72,919
Now, I have only seven months of experience in research. And, most of time was spent in the field rather than doing the writing and editing, but as you know, this I am well capable of as I have written novels and maintain this blog to a very high degree of customer satisfaction. But I'm not sure that they will accept this. As far as the job, it sounds sweet. A cushy government job pushing papers. But not just boring papers. Interesting papers. And I'm GOOD at pushing papers. This is why I enjoyed my research job so much. That and the smell of the pig barn. Anyways, please feel free to comment about whether I am crazy to think that I would even stand a chance or whether I would be remiss to not at least throw in a resume. I welcome your feedback as always. Just imagine... me... a top secret spy. I'll have to get a pair of sunglasses and a dark suit just like on Men in Black. Perhaps I should rent the movie to do some background research. Yes, yes. Thats what I'll do. And then I'll list it on my resume under courses taken. That is sure to impress!
This is the posting, which I have had to painstakingly retype as it is not available on line.
Title: RCMP Criminal Intelligence Analyst
This is a civilian member position that will report to the officer in charge of Combined Special Forces Special Enforcement Unit.
Responsibilies:
1) Collecting, researching, evaluating and analyzing intelligence information to identify criminal trends and patterns and to develop analytical intelligence products
2) Preparing reports identifying or illustrating criminal group/individual associations and criminal trends.
3)Providing expert advice on complex issues, assessing intelligence and providing tactical and strategic analysis focused on local, provincial and federal criminal activity.
4) establishing a network of contacts in dientifying criminal trends and conducting intelligence analysis
5) participating in presentations, lectures and seminars as an expert resource and attending conferences and training courses.
Basic Requirements:
Language: English
Security: Eligible to hold Top Secret Security Clearance
Education: A bachelors degree from a recognized university
Experience:
--2+ years experience in research, writing, analyzing and editing documents.
--One+ years in a research, publishing or analytical environment
--One+ years experience in working with computers, in particular word processing, spreadsheets and database software.
Additional Abilities:
Above average oral and written communication skills
As a prerequisite, must successfully complete an examination in the required field of work.
Location: Saskatoon, SK
Salary: 67,446-72,919
Now, I have only seven months of experience in research. And, most of time was spent in the field rather than doing the writing and editing, but as you know, this I am well capable of as I have written novels and maintain this blog to a very high degree of customer satisfaction. But I'm not sure that they will accept this. As far as the job, it sounds sweet. A cushy government job pushing papers. But not just boring papers. Interesting papers. And I'm GOOD at pushing papers. This is why I enjoyed my research job so much. That and the smell of the pig barn. Anyways, please feel free to comment about whether I am crazy to think that I would even stand a chance or whether I would be remiss to not at least throw in a resume. I welcome your feedback as always. Just imagine... me... a top secret spy. I'll have to get a pair of sunglasses and a dark suit just like on Men in Black. Perhaps I should rent the movie to do some background research. Yes, yes. Thats what I'll do. And then I'll list it on my resume under courses taken. That is sure to impress!
Sunday, March 18, 2007
P15
I returned to the office outraged. I could not believe she would do such a thing. To actually railroad me into believing that her sister was a therapist so that I would spill my secrets.
“Where were you?” Constance asked as soon as I sat down at my cubicle.
“I had an appointment,” I answered, checking my email.
“Cynthia’s been in here twice already asking about you, you’re supposed to go directly to her office when you come back,” Constance informed, looking pained. “I tried to cover for you but she wouldn’t listen to me.” Her voice carried a note of panic. She nervously tugged at the oversized sweater she was wearing. “I think she’s really mad,” she concluded, her brows burrowed in a strained expression.
“Don’t worry, Constance,” I replied, marching down the hall to Cynthia’s office. I would just tell her to forget it. This was not what I had signed up for. What was I thinking? Did I actually think that Cynthia was rational? Reasonable?
Delores buzzed me through to Cynthia directly with a puzzled expression. No one got buzzed through directly.
“So you met with Jan?” Cynthia asked, without turning to face me. She was looking out the window.
“I met with Jan,” I replied. “Who, incidentally, you failed to mention, was not a counselor,” I added, allowing my frustration to seep into my voice.
“What? But I never said she was a counselor,” Cynthia said, turning around, feigning confusion. Aargh. I had heard her clearly use the word counselor. How could I have mistaken ‘sister’ for ‘counselor’? Is that what she was implying?
“Yes, actually, that it is precisely what you said,” I replied, standing my ground.
She waved her hand in the air. “It’s no matter, so we somehow got our wires crossed” she said dismissively. “She said you passed. With flying colors. Way better than the last three I sent.”
Passed?
With flying colors?
What were the criteria here? Does not arrive at interview wielding ax? Does not have a tatoo of a cross on the center of the forehead? Does not casually allude to “my time in the pen” as some of the most productive of their life?
“She was a little concerned about the fact that you seemed fixated on her chest,” she added. “But that is absolutely not my business. I, for one, am not homophobic in the least, and I told my sister that she simply needs to loosen up.”
“What? No. I wasn’t staring at her chest. Honestly. It was the sailboats, on her dress. It was a very busy pattern, Mrs. Jacobson.”
She laughed a wry chuckle while lighting a cigarette. “I think the lady doth protest too much,” she said cryptically.
God.
I’m screwed here. If I say nothing then I’m gay by virtue of the fact that I’m not denying it. But if I do deny it then I’m ‘protesting too much’ and am, therefore, gay anyways.
“Now I see why your wedding was called off. Trust me Kristina, you did the right thing. No use pretending.”
How? How could I be having this conversation?
“Mrs. Jacobson, that is not why my wedding was called off. I’m not gay. I told you. It was the sailboats. They were, like, hypnotic or something” I was pleading.
“Right. The sailboats. Of course,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “But rest assured, Kristina, it matters not to me. All that matters to me is the fact that you passed.”
I said nothing, just slumped down in leather couch.
Suddenly, the gay matter aside, though not the least bit resolved, she was all business again.
“You have an appointment on Friday at three for an ultrasound. Be sure to drink plenty of water.” She said before leaving the room.
I sat there for several minutes, until I could hear the clacking of her stilettos return to the room, just trying to process everything. Then I made a mad dash for my office where I buried myself in work for the remainder of the day.
“Where were you?” Constance asked as soon as I sat down at my cubicle.
“I had an appointment,” I answered, checking my email.
“Cynthia’s been in here twice already asking about you, you’re supposed to go directly to her office when you come back,” Constance informed, looking pained. “I tried to cover for you but she wouldn’t listen to me.” Her voice carried a note of panic. She nervously tugged at the oversized sweater she was wearing. “I think she’s really mad,” she concluded, her brows burrowed in a strained expression.
“Don’t worry, Constance,” I replied, marching down the hall to Cynthia’s office. I would just tell her to forget it. This was not what I had signed up for. What was I thinking? Did I actually think that Cynthia was rational? Reasonable?
Delores buzzed me through to Cynthia directly with a puzzled expression. No one got buzzed through directly.
“So you met with Jan?” Cynthia asked, without turning to face me. She was looking out the window.
“I met with Jan,” I replied. “Who, incidentally, you failed to mention, was not a counselor,” I added, allowing my frustration to seep into my voice.
“What? But I never said she was a counselor,” Cynthia said, turning around, feigning confusion. Aargh. I had heard her clearly use the word counselor. How could I have mistaken ‘sister’ for ‘counselor’? Is that what she was implying?
“Yes, actually, that it is precisely what you said,” I replied, standing my ground.
She waved her hand in the air. “It’s no matter, so we somehow got our wires crossed” she said dismissively. “She said you passed. With flying colors. Way better than the last three I sent.”
Passed?
With flying colors?
What were the criteria here? Does not arrive at interview wielding ax? Does not have a tatoo of a cross on the center of the forehead? Does not casually allude to “my time in the pen” as some of the most productive of their life?
“She was a little concerned about the fact that you seemed fixated on her chest,” she added. “But that is absolutely not my business. I, for one, am not homophobic in the least, and I told my sister that she simply needs to loosen up.”
“What? No. I wasn’t staring at her chest. Honestly. It was the sailboats, on her dress. It was a very busy pattern, Mrs. Jacobson.”
She laughed a wry chuckle while lighting a cigarette. “I think the lady doth protest too much,” she said cryptically.
God.
I’m screwed here. If I say nothing then I’m gay by virtue of the fact that I’m not denying it. But if I do deny it then I’m ‘protesting too much’ and am, therefore, gay anyways.
“Now I see why your wedding was called off. Trust me Kristina, you did the right thing. No use pretending.”
How? How could I be having this conversation?
“Mrs. Jacobson, that is not why my wedding was called off. I’m not gay. I told you. It was the sailboats. They were, like, hypnotic or something” I was pleading.
“Right. The sailboats. Of course,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “But rest assured, Kristina, it matters not to me. All that matters to me is the fact that you passed.”
I said nothing, just slumped down in leather couch.
Suddenly, the gay matter aside, though not the least bit resolved, she was all business again.
“You have an appointment on Friday at three for an ultrasound. Be sure to drink plenty of water.” She said before leaving the room.
I sat there for several minutes, until I could hear the clacking of her stilettos return to the room, just trying to process everything. Then I made a mad dash for my office where I buried myself in work for the remainder of the day.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Hold the presses
Remember how I was saying yesterday that life pulls us in directions we never expected?? Well, it happened again. It seems that I was not meant to be the poster girl for STDs. The reporter decided to shoot some students on campus instead. Now you may be disapointed, as I am sure you were looking forward to that autograph session at Macs, but I, for one, am relieved. The unfortunate thing is that I have permed my hair for no good reason and have a paisley silk blouse that I have no real use for anymore. Anyways, I think that I put that reporter off for too long so he took his camera elsewhere, which I feel OK about. All day yesterday I rehearsed my little spiel in my head but then every time I tried to say it out loud I would get it wrong. I just don't think I'm meant to be in the limelight.
I'm actually not sure why they call it the lime light. There are no limes. There's light, of course. But no limes. Think about it. Strange, isn't it?? So in that light, I don't want to be in the lime light, or the lemon light, or ANY kind of citrus light at all whatsoever.
And speaking of lime light, how about Idol last night?? I CAN'T believe that that little punk ass crap singer Sanjaya is still on there. Brandon was WAY better, but he forgot some words, but all in all he kicked Sanjaya's a**. I don't understand that show. No wonder the justice system in America is so corrupt. People down there can't tell their heads from their assholes. But at least Blake is still in there. Go Blake.
So I continue to be at a standstill with the kitchen. Its very confusing because people say blue so then I think blue. But then yesterday I was informed that yellow is the new taupe. There are no easy anwers when it comes to home decor I tell you. I think I will simply wait for a sign from above.
Well, anyways, thats it for now. Have a pleasant day.
I'm actually not sure why they call it the lime light. There are no limes. There's light, of course. But no limes. Think about it. Strange, isn't it?? So in that light, I don't want to be in the lime light, or the lemon light, or ANY kind of citrus light at all whatsoever.
And speaking of lime light, how about Idol last night?? I CAN'T believe that that little punk ass crap singer Sanjaya is still on there. Brandon was WAY better, but he forgot some words, but all in all he kicked Sanjaya's a**. I don't understand that show. No wonder the justice system in America is so corrupt. People down there can't tell their heads from their assholes. But at least Blake is still in there. Go Blake.
So I continue to be at a standstill with the kitchen. Its very confusing because people say blue so then I think blue. But then yesterday I was informed that yellow is the new taupe. There are no easy anwers when it comes to home decor I tell you. I think I will simply wait for a sign from above.
Well, anyways, thats it for now. Have a pleasant day.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
The new face of STD
My mother has asked me to blogcast my due date with Reid. I would have been having the little sucker soon here-- May 4. Its funny because when I first found out I was pregnant, way back in the end of August, I thought MAY!! That seemed like a lifetime away. I mean, you might have told me that I was due on Dec 3 2010. Thats how far away it seemed. But now, I realize that its just around the corner. I would be getting his room ready. Packing my stuff for the hospital, etc. But that was not to be. I guess sometimes, despite the hopes and plans that we have, life has a mind of its own and pushes and pulls us in directions we never thought we'd go.
And on that note... here's a direction I never thought I'd go. Being interviewed for the evening news. Imagine me, just a lowly workaday nure, eeking out a living in a simple clinic in a rough part of town. And then one day, a strange phone call from an unexpected source. A newsbroadcaster from CBC, wanting to get an interview with little old me. Its simple really. It'll be probably be less than thirty seconds of air time, but I'm FREAKING out. He's covering a story about STD's. The upshot of it is that this newly published study found that 1 in 4 doctors don't report new cases to the region, which they're supposed to (Crap, I think I just broke their big story). So they want someone in the medical field to counter that by giving a simple statement to the effect that "our clinic works diligently to persue these cases and bring them in for prompt treatment and follow up". Its simple, I know. But I can't help but be crazy nervous about it. What if I fart?? What if I have a big booger in my nose and they shove the camera up there? I hope he's forgotten all about it. Although that seems unlikely because he seemed a little too relieved that I didn't hang up on him after he got the first sentence in.
So thats whats new with me. Stay tuned to CBC news tomorrow night. Following my perfomance, I will be doing an autograph singning session at Macs. Head shots will be available for purchase for a small fee.
Wish me luck.
And on that note... here's a direction I never thought I'd go. Being interviewed for the evening news. Imagine me, just a lowly workaday nure, eeking out a living in a simple clinic in a rough part of town. And then one day, a strange phone call from an unexpected source. A newsbroadcaster from CBC, wanting to get an interview with little old me. Its simple really. It'll be probably be less than thirty seconds of air time, but I'm FREAKING out. He's covering a story about STD's. The upshot of it is that this newly published study found that 1 in 4 doctors don't report new cases to the region, which they're supposed to (Crap, I think I just broke their big story). So they want someone in the medical field to counter that by giving a simple statement to the effect that "our clinic works diligently to persue these cases and bring them in for prompt treatment and follow up". Its simple, I know. But I can't help but be crazy nervous about it. What if I fart?? What if I have a big booger in my nose and they shove the camera up there? I hope he's forgotten all about it. Although that seems unlikely because he seemed a little too relieved that I didn't hang up on him after he got the first sentence in.
So thats whats new with me. Stay tuned to CBC news tomorrow night. Following my perfomance, I will be doing an autograph singning session at Macs. Head shots will be available for purchase for a small fee.
Wish me luck.
Monday, March 12, 2007
A decision has been reached!
Well, after much soul searching, I have finally arrived at a decision in the family planning area. I have decided that it seems reasonable to stop at this point. We have a boy and a girl already. A million dollar family. And we are more are less stretched to our financial limit right now. And in two years Payton will be ready for kindergarten. If we have another baby I will just be going back to work and needing to start all over with childcare, etc. It is, in a way, a relief. I feel good about the fact that we won't need to worry about money for college tuitions, etc. And perhaps a family vacation will be in order soon. Even trying to get pregnant was taking its toll. I'm glad in a way that I won't be going through that this month. Because as much as you try to tell yourself that you're not getting your hopes up, the day your period comes is pretty freaking crappy. So Geoff is going to call the DF tomorrow (Dr. Fenton) and book an appointment. He doesn't even seem the slightest bit hesitant. I think he actually wants to go. Even right now I'm looking at the computer tower and its scribbled all over with bright red marker. I just shake my head. Soon they'll be older... Soon I'll have some peace of mind and maybe, just maybe, a somewhat tidy household.
So that is what's new with me. I am a little saddened because that may mean the end of my blog, as that is why I started writing this blog. I don't know what I'll write about if not my compulsive urine tests. Don't cry for me Argentina.
Anyways, I have not heard back from anyone about the meatloaf. Its like a shot right through my heart. Come on guys, get cooking. I will offer a reward for the first person to reply that they made the meatloaf. I won't tell you now what it is, mainly because first off I'm not that sure yet what the prize will be. And secondly, I'm pretty sure that whatever it is, its not going to be anything so awesome that it really persuade anyone. Damn. Guess I shouldn't have given that away.
And also, I haven't heard back from everyone on the kitchen issue. See, I myself, am somewhat partial to the blue but I'm a little nervous that it will make the kitchen look dark and gloomy. And I was watching a show yesterday where the designer said that blue is the hardest color to do because its really hard to get the right shade. Anyways, please let me know what you are thinking if you have not done so already.
Peace out.
So that is what's new with me. I am a little saddened because that may mean the end of my blog, as that is why I started writing this blog. I don't know what I'll write about if not my compulsive urine tests. Don't cry for me Argentina.
Anyways, I have not heard back from anyone about the meatloaf. Its like a shot right through my heart. Come on guys, get cooking. I will offer a reward for the first person to reply that they made the meatloaf. I won't tell you now what it is, mainly because first off I'm not that sure yet what the prize will be. And secondly, I'm pretty sure that whatever it is, its not going to be anything so awesome that it really persuade anyone. Damn. Guess I shouldn't have given that away.
And also, I haven't heard back from everyone on the kitchen issue. See, I myself, am somewhat partial to the blue but I'm a little nervous that it will make the kitchen look dark and gloomy. And I was watching a show yesterday where the designer said that blue is the hardest color to do because its really hard to get the right shade. Anyways, please let me know what you are thinking if you have not done so already.
Peace out.
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
The next installment
The Session
-5-
The counselors name was Jan Kincaid. She was an overweight woman in her early forties with red frizzy hair and large, square glasses. What made the situation even more unfortunate was the fact that she was wearing a heavy denim dress adorned with a pattern of orange sailboats. Okay, so she was a counselor not a fashion consultant, but still. It was hard to get past her appearance. I had expected someone mousy looking for some reason, though I wasn’t sure why. I was distinctly uncomfortable as I sat down across from her on a leather chair.
She sat poised with pen in hand, and I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to start or she was supposed to start. What was the protocol? I cleared my throat. She tapped the pen a few times, still silent.
“So I guess you know why I’m here,” I began tentatively. Someone had to say something; it was getting really awkward, even for a psychotherapy session.
“Yes, but I would like to hear you explain it in your own words, anyways,” she said. Her voice was totally incongruent with her appearance: smooth, soft, silky. She spoke like she was five seven and a hundred and ten pounds. I suddenly thought about those sex phone lines and wondered if they were actually manned by a group of equally unattractive ladies with oddly mismatched voices, sitting around smoking cigarettes and eating doughnuts while horny men were scammed out of their paychecks based on the pretense of sensuality.
“ Well, I’ve been thinking about becoming a surrogate for my boss, Cynthia Jacobson,” I answered.
“Tell me more about that,” she prompted.
‘Tell me more’? What else was there to tell?
“Well, I just thought it would be good,” I said. “For both of us,” I added.
“Mmm,” she said, nodding and jotting something down. What was she writing?
“Cynthia’s had so many things go wrong already. I just, you know, thought that this would be something…something important somehow. It would just really be a good thing to do,” I rambled. I knew that I was rambling but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
“Its interesting, Christine, how you speak so objectively. You’re not telling me about how you feel. About what’s in here,” she said, thumping her fist to her chest like Tarzan.
“Right, what’s in here,” I answered with a sharp nod. “Uhm, well I guess I feel, just sort of like…well I’m not really feeling anything right now, actually, but I’m sure that I will. I’ll be happy, I suppose, just to be able to help, assuming that things go according to plan. And I really do need the ‘financial compensation’, which might be a terrible thing to say, but I guess I just look at it like a job. Like I’m getting paid to do a job. Nothing more and nothing less,” I answered. There it was. It seemed cold, even to my own ears, but there was little I could do about it. Those were my true feelings on the subject. If she had been shocked by my words she didn’t show it.
“Do you have a support system?” She asked instead, abruptly changing the subject. She was regarding me with a look of intense curiosity.
“A support system?”
“Yes, friends, family, that sort of thing?”
“Yeah, of course I have friends. And family. Lots of family. Lots of friends and family,” I replied enthusiastically.
“And have you discussed any of this with them?”
“No, not yet,” I replied.
“What’s holding you back?”
“Nothing. It’s just that nothing is really for sure yet. I might as well wait until things are more, you know, finalized.”
She raised her eyebrows, giving a knowing glance and then tapped her pen on the table. “Are you sure that’s it?”
“Well, sure I’m sure. I mean, they’d be cool about it. And even if they weren’t, it’s not exactly their decision is it?” I answered back, feeling defensive for some reason.
“That’s true. How have they reacted in the past to the decisions you’ve made?”
“Oh, they’re usually… just supportive. Very supportive,” I said with a nod. It was true. In a way. Okay, I know that not everyone would consider “What the hell are you thinking? Have you lost your fucking mind” ‘supportive’, but it was just their way. And I know that deep down inside they were supportive of me, but they just didn’t really know how to show it.
Really.
“For example?” she asked. Why was she making this so difficult? And what did it really matter in the scheme of things.
“Can we just change the subject,” I asked, really not wanting to get into anything too heavy.
“All right. How about your sex life. How often do you have sex?” she asked, perfectly poised. She posed the question as plainly as one might ask about the weather. But this wasn’t the weather.
It took me a moment to regain my composure. “I don’t see how that could possibly be relevant,” I stammered.
“Everything’s relevant,” she answered, flippantly.
“Well, fine. Easy enough. I don’t have a sex life, satisfied?”
“Are you?” she asked, a smug look on her face.
“Of course I am. My life is very fulfilling. I have wonderful friends. A great family. A challenging job. What more could I possibly ask for?” I argued. I knew I was being defensive, but this lady was getting to me. What right did she have to be prying into my sex life? None whatsoever. Besides, who was she to judge me? What about her sex life? Her apartment probably wasn’t exactly a hotbed of activity, either. I mean, lets face it, there’s not a huge market out there for older, frizzy haired ladies with glasses bigger than their tits. Not to mention the dumpy body. And the attitude.
Perhaps I was being a little harsh. It was possible that there were breasts somewhere under that tent of a dress. It was strange. When she moved it gave the impression that the sailboats were actually adrift on a sea of denim.
“Hm-Hmm,” she said, clearing her throat. Abruptly, I realized I was staring at her chest.
Oh God.
“Sorry, I was just, uh, lost in thought there.”
“Whatever,” she replied tersely, though she looked somewhat flustered. “Let’s talk nutrition. Give a run down of everything you ate yesterday,” she said, again changing the subject abruptly.
“Yesterday. Yest-er-day,” I said while thinking. Visions of coffee, doughnuts, more coffee and a piece of cold pizza washed down with a bottle of wine filled my head. “Yesterday…” I said, stalling now. “Bran flakes in the morning. With skim milk, of course. Lentil soup for lunch with a spinach salad. And for supper… what was it now? Oh, yes, broiled chicken with asparagus, I believe. Yes. I believe that’s it.”
“Pretty impressive,” she answered. “Of course I don’t believe a word of it.”
Outrageous! She was accusing me of lying! Of course, I was lying, but that was beside the point.
“Are you accusing me of lying?” I asked, incensed.
“Should I be?” she responded. She was impossible. How she could get off calling herself a counselor was beyond me. Where did she receive her training- at the CIA school of interrogation?
“Of course you shouldn’t be. I happen to love lentils and spinach.” Another white lie. Truthfully, I probably would not be able to pick out a lentil in the supermarket if my life depended on it.
“Really? And I suppose that’s how you maintain your what…size ten figure? By eating so healthy?”
Was she calling me fat?
“I happen to be a size eight,” I retorted. Another lie. I was a size eight. Before dear fiancé deserted me and left me with nothing but Hagen Daaz and Tostitos to keep me company at night.
“Sorry, my mistake,” she allowed with a slight grimace. “How do you feel about your body?”
“Well, naturally I would like to shed a few pounds. Don’t we all?”
“Some of us accept our bodies, imperfect though they may be.”
And some of us are then delusional, I thought warily.
I only nodded, growing tired of her games. Screw it. I was wanting to do Cynthia a favor, God only knows why, but if she was going to make me jump through hoops for it, then just screw it. I can just as easily go back to my tomato soup and ichiban noodles.
“You say you look at this as a job, nothing less and nothing more?” she asked.
“Pretty much,” I replied, crossing my legs and folding my arms across my chest. Hadn’t I already said that?
“Do you really think that’s a realistic approach? At some point, won’t there be feelings involved? You may be underestimating the bond that a woman feels for the baby she carries,” she said, all nice and motherly again.
“But it’s not my baby to begin with. I won’t bond with it,” I answered with conviction. I could hardly see myself bonding with anything that had Cynthias’ blood running through its veins.
“All right,” she said, writing again. When she looked up she informed me that the session was over. Sweeter words had never been spoken.
“All right, well, thank you for your time Dr. Kincaid,” I said, getting up.
“Oh, no, I’m not a doctor,” she admitted.
That actually explained a lot.
“I was under the impression you were a psychologist,” I probed, perplexed.
“No. Sorry for the confusion. I’m Cynthia’s sister. She just wanted my opinion of you.”
-5-
The counselors name was Jan Kincaid. She was an overweight woman in her early forties with red frizzy hair and large, square glasses. What made the situation even more unfortunate was the fact that she was wearing a heavy denim dress adorned with a pattern of orange sailboats. Okay, so she was a counselor not a fashion consultant, but still. It was hard to get past her appearance. I had expected someone mousy looking for some reason, though I wasn’t sure why. I was distinctly uncomfortable as I sat down across from her on a leather chair.
She sat poised with pen in hand, and I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to start or she was supposed to start. What was the protocol? I cleared my throat. She tapped the pen a few times, still silent.
“So I guess you know why I’m here,” I began tentatively. Someone had to say something; it was getting really awkward, even for a psychotherapy session.
“Yes, but I would like to hear you explain it in your own words, anyways,” she said. Her voice was totally incongruent with her appearance: smooth, soft, silky. She spoke like she was five seven and a hundred and ten pounds. I suddenly thought about those sex phone lines and wondered if they were actually manned by a group of equally unattractive ladies with oddly mismatched voices, sitting around smoking cigarettes and eating doughnuts while horny men were scammed out of their paychecks based on the pretense of sensuality.
“ Well, I’ve been thinking about becoming a surrogate for my boss, Cynthia Jacobson,” I answered.
“Tell me more about that,” she prompted.
‘Tell me more’? What else was there to tell?
“Well, I just thought it would be good,” I said. “For both of us,” I added.
“Mmm,” she said, nodding and jotting something down. What was she writing?
“Cynthia’s had so many things go wrong already. I just, you know, thought that this would be something…something important somehow. It would just really be a good thing to do,” I rambled. I knew that I was rambling but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
“Its interesting, Christine, how you speak so objectively. You’re not telling me about how you feel. About what’s in here,” she said, thumping her fist to her chest like Tarzan.
“Right, what’s in here,” I answered with a sharp nod. “Uhm, well I guess I feel, just sort of like…well I’m not really feeling anything right now, actually, but I’m sure that I will. I’ll be happy, I suppose, just to be able to help, assuming that things go according to plan. And I really do need the ‘financial compensation’, which might be a terrible thing to say, but I guess I just look at it like a job. Like I’m getting paid to do a job. Nothing more and nothing less,” I answered. There it was. It seemed cold, even to my own ears, but there was little I could do about it. Those were my true feelings on the subject. If she had been shocked by my words she didn’t show it.
“Do you have a support system?” She asked instead, abruptly changing the subject. She was regarding me with a look of intense curiosity.
“A support system?”
“Yes, friends, family, that sort of thing?”
“Yeah, of course I have friends. And family. Lots of family. Lots of friends and family,” I replied enthusiastically.
“And have you discussed any of this with them?”
“No, not yet,” I replied.
“What’s holding you back?”
“Nothing. It’s just that nothing is really for sure yet. I might as well wait until things are more, you know, finalized.”
She raised her eyebrows, giving a knowing glance and then tapped her pen on the table. “Are you sure that’s it?”
“Well, sure I’m sure. I mean, they’d be cool about it. And even if they weren’t, it’s not exactly their decision is it?” I answered back, feeling defensive for some reason.
“That’s true. How have they reacted in the past to the decisions you’ve made?”
“Oh, they’re usually… just supportive. Very supportive,” I said with a nod. It was true. In a way. Okay, I know that not everyone would consider “What the hell are you thinking? Have you lost your fucking mind” ‘supportive’, but it was just their way. And I know that deep down inside they were supportive of me, but they just didn’t really know how to show it.
Really.
“For example?” she asked. Why was she making this so difficult? And what did it really matter in the scheme of things.
“Can we just change the subject,” I asked, really not wanting to get into anything too heavy.
“All right. How about your sex life. How often do you have sex?” she asked, perfectly poised. She posed the question as plainly as one might ask about the weather. But this wasn’t the weather.
It took me a moment to regain my composure. “I don’t see how that could possibly be relevant,” I stammered.
“Everything’s relevant,” she answered, flippantly.
“Well, fine. Easy enough. I don’t have a sex life, satisfied?”
“Are you?” she asked, a smug look on her face.
“Of course I am. My life is very fulfilling. I have wonderful friends. A great family. A challenging job. What more could I possibly ask for?” I argued. I knew I was being defensive, but this lady was getting to me. What right did she have to be prying into my sex life? None whatsoever. Besides, who was she to judge me? What about her sex life? Her apartment probably wasn’t exactly a hotbed of activity, either. I mean, lets face it, there’s not a huge market out there for older, frizzy haired ladies with glasses bigger than their tits. Not to mention the dumpy body. And the attitude.
Perhaps I was being a little harsh. It was possible that there were breasts somewhere under that tent of a dress. It was strange. When she moved it gave the impression that the sailboats were actually adrift on a sea of denim.
“Hm-Hmm,” she said, clearing her throat. Abruptly, I realized I was staring at her chest.
Oh God.
“Sorry, I was just, uh, lost in thought there.”
“Whatever,” she replied tersely, though she looked somewhat flustered. “Let’s talk nutrition. Give a run down of everything you ate yesterday,” she said, again changing the subject abruptly.
“Yesterday. Yest-er-day,” I said while thinking. Visions of coffee, doughnuts, more coffee and a piece of cold pizza washed down with a bottle of wine filled my head. “Yesterday…” I said, stalling now. “Bran flakes in the morning. With skim milk, of course. Lentil soup for lunch with a spinach salad. And for supper… what was it now? Oh, yes, broiled chicken with asparagus, I believe. Yes. I believe that’s it.”
“Pretty impressive,” she answered. “Of course I don’t believe a word of it.”
Outrageous! She was accusing me of lying! Of course, I was lying, but that was beside the point.
“Are you accusing me of lying?” I asked, incensed.
“Should I be?” she responded. She was impossible. How she could get off calling herself a counselor was beyond me. Where did she receive her training- at the CIA school of interrogation?
“Of course you shouldn’t be. I happen to love lentils and spinach.” Another white lie. Truthfully, I probably would not be able to pick out a lentil in the supermarket if my life depended on it.
“Really? And I suppose that’s how you maintain your what…size ten figure? By eating so healthy?”
Was she calling me fat?
“I happen to be a size eight,” I retorted. Another lie. I was a size eight. Before dear fiancé deserted me and left me with nothing but Hagen Daaz and Tostitos to keep me company at night.
“Sorry, my mistake,” she allowed with a slight grimace. “How do you feel about your body?”
“Well, naturally I would like to shed a few pounds. Don’t we all?”
“Some of us accept our bodies, imperfect though they may be.”
And some of us are then delusional, I thought warily.
I only nodded, growing tired of her games. Screw it. I was wanting to do Cynthia a favor, God only knows why, but if she was going to make me jump through hoops for it, then just screw it. I can just as easily go back to my tomato soup and ichiban noodles.
“You say you look at this as a job, nothing less and nothing more?” she asked.
“Pretty much,” I replied, crossing my legs and folding my arms across my chest. Hadn’t I already said that?
“Do you really think that’s a realistic approach? At some point, won’t there be feelings involved? You may be underestimating the bond that a woman feels for the baby she carries,” she said, all nice and motherly again.
“But it’s not my baby to begin with. I won’t bond with it,” I answered with conviction. I could hardly see myself bonding with anything that had Cynthias’ blood running through its veins.
“All right,” she said, writing again. When she looked up she informed me that the session was over. Sweeter words had never been spoken.
“All right, well, thank you for your time Dr. Kincaid,” I said, getting up.
“Oh, no, I’m not a doctor,” she admitted.
That actually explained a lot.
“I was under the impression you were a psychologist,” I probed, perplexed.
“No. Sorry for the confusion. I’m Cynthia’s sister. She just wanted my opinion of you.”
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
My VIP's
These are pictures of two VIP's in my world. To the left: Brady
Meowserly Townsend Makepeace. To the right: Payton Rose Makepeace. They are both very sweet. And I must say that it came as somewhat of a shock to me to learn that Brady has been made fun of in some circles behind her precious little back. That cuts deep. What cuts even deeper? The fact that the very people who are making fun of her are those who are supposed to love her most-- her own aunty and uncle and grandma and grandpa. Appalling, isn't it??? And look at that little face. Simply precious. I, for one, happen to think independence is a good trait. They think that just because Brady does her own thing she's "feral" and "antisocial". Its true that you cannot hold her. Or pet her for that matter. But you CAN admire her from afar. Rather like Angelina Jolie. And noone calls her feral. Yes, they are very similar, but without the tramping around-- Brady Moeswerly Townsend Makepeace is fixed so does not engage in unbecoming behavior. Anyways, I like to think of her as moody and eccentric, like a tempermental artist. At any rate, she brings a LOT of joy into our lives. Even her playful pouncing is just a treasure. Who doesn't love it when they are about to drift off into a peaceful slumber when POUNCE, all of a sudden, virtually from nowhere, razor sharp claws dig themselves into your exposed feet?? Sure they bleed a bit, but its worth it just to see that little face. I just smile and say 'you got me again, you little rascal'.
As for the other one, Payton, she is also very cute, as you can see. She is coming along quite nicely. I took the kids out for supper tonight and some lady came up to me afterwards and said "you have such nice children". It was funny b/c we went to this place once before (the Peking by Superstore-- a classy joint let me warn you, so don't even bother to go there unless you have some serious coin and reservations months in advance) and Payton got a sucker afterwards. That was months ago. But she remembered that. Tonight, after we were done our supper she went up to the little Asian fellow behind the till and said "where's my sucker?" Everyone got a good laugh out of that. Funny how its cute when you're two but not so cute when your older. Whenever I do that people just give me a real dirty look. Go figure.
Well, I suppose that is all for todays edition. Have a pleasant evening. And go Blake on American Idol.
Also, I wasn't kidding about that meatloaf recipe. Its the BOMB. Seriously, if you have hamburger in your freezer right now, go and defrost it for tommorow. You won't be sorry. Peace out.
Also, there is one VIP missing from this blog: my son Gage. I promise to post a picture of him soon. It's just that they're so scarce. Isn't it supposed to be the second child that gets the shaft?? Guess I must be oppositional.
Sunday, March 4, 2007
More decisions...
I have another tough decision to make. I'm planning on painting the kitchen and can't choose between blue and yellow. I'm not planning on painting right now. It's more like within the next couple of months. A short term goal. I plan on painting it and replacing the blinds and getting a new light fixture above the table. Just little cosmetic things, but hopefully it will make it a big difference. Eventually, we hope to replace the patio doors with French doors but thats a little out of our price range right now what with our 30% interest rate loan at the Brick. Not to mention my little furry friend with a thousand dollar price tag, who I must tell you, slept the night last night!! From 11:00 until 7:30. It was great. Anyways, here are the paint chips. I will put this to a public vote. By the way, the background color is the cabinets, dirty as you can see.
A big shout out to everyone with regards to my last entry. I appreciate your comments. There are no easy answers. Geoff and I will have to make a decision soon, as this week is when I'm fertile. I have to say that I tend to lead towards not having another baby, especially when I think about the face that thirty looms in the not to distant future for me and forty for Geoff.
On a completely different note, I wanted to share with y'all a great recipe. This is the simplest thing. To make meatloaf you simply mix hamburger with a package of Stove Top stuffing mix. And you needn't add anything else. It has the breadcrumbs, onions and spices. It holds it together beautifully and it tastes great. You must try it. You simply must. If you do, please report back to me on what you thought of it. I will thank my momma for the recipe. That woman is a genius in the kitchen I tell ya.
Lastly, I don't know who out there is watching American Idol this season. But for those of you that follow the program, I'm cheering for Blake. I think he's awesomely talented. I also like Brandon and Jared. Who are you cheering for? Well, have a nice evening and pleasant Monday. And about that: who says 'have a pleasant day?' I've been to Superstore a few times and been told to 'have a pleasant day'. I must admit that I felt slightly slighted. It's like 'what I'm not good enough for 'have a good day'?? I must settle for just plain pleasant?? And speaking of pleasant, I'm glad to report that they have a new jobshop commercial now. Its still maddeningly annoying, but at least it's different.
Saturday, March 3, 2007
The Path Not Taken
That is the title of Roberts Frost poem or some such thing about a man at a crossroads. I have really no idea what the rest of the poem is about, in fact, I actually don't think I've ever really read it. Or if I have I guess it was a long time ago. But anyways, this is not a dissertation on American Literature. The reason why I have borrowed that line is because I feel that I am at a similar crossroad.
The other night Geoff voiced to me his deep desire not to have any more children. I could see that it was not easy for him, he knows how important this baby is to me. In fact, we both cried that night. Well, me more than him. He wasn't saying that we couldn't have another. He was just asking me to really evaluate whether another baby is really the best thing for us at this point, and to think with my head and not just my heart.
The fact is that the spacing with these kids is not going to be what we had hoped. We wanted Payton and the new baby to be really close in age, so we could raise them together kind of. But now Payton will be three and a half when this baby is born, at the very youngest. Which, as you know, is only a short while from school age, a point which will afford us a lot more freedom- both financially and otherwise (our daycare fees will be a LOT cheaper once she's in school). Also, Gage is going to be ten when this hypothetical baby is born. We had agreed before that once our oldest is in his double digits then it's definately too late to start all over again.
What's more is that I know that realistically, we can't really afford for me to take another year off work. I would get EI but the wages are pathetic- only half of the salary that I'm accustomed to and that we count on to pay bills.
It was very difficult for me to even consider this. But yesterday at work I made a list of pros an cons of having a third child and I could tell at a quick glance that the cons easily outnumbered the pros. The exercise also made me realize that the number one reason why I want to have another baby is to replace Reid. And honestly, I'm not so sure that that's really a great reason to have another child. We still haven't made a firm decision one way or another. But the more that I think about it the more I must admit that perhaps we should simply be happy with what we have. The other thing is that I have always wanted to take Gage on a vacation. But if we have another baby we won't be able to go anywhere for a long time- I'll be tied down for nine months with the pregnancy and then another year or so afterwards with breastfeeding. Geoff and I have talked a bit about maybe taking the kids on a Disney Cruise next winter- a vacation of a lifetime for all of us. But that will be out of the question with a new baby.
These are difficult decisions to make. At times I feel good about the fact that we should just stop trying. But at times it tugs painfully at my heart. I want to see that positive line on a pregnancy test one more time. To hear that heart beat on Doppler for the first time again. To feel movement from within. To experience the sensation and satisfaction of seeing a baby asleep at my breast. But perhaps I must give up on this dream.
Anyways, this a bigger dilemna than the coffee pot, which as you know, took several grueling staff meetings to hammer out the decision. Geoff has agreed that if we decide not to have another baby he will have a vasectomy, the only thing I would agree to. I said if YOU don't want another baby then YOU can go and get fixed. I have some doubts about his going through with this so I could still end up pregant anyways. But anyways, in the meantime, I will welcome your input and feedback on this issue.
The other night Geoff voiced to me his deep desire not to have any more children. I could see that it was not easy for him, he knows how important this baby is to me. In fact, we both cried that night. Well, me more than him. He wasn't saying that we couldn't have another. He was just asking me to really evaluate whether another baby is really the best thing for us at this point, and to think with my head and not just my heart.
The fact is that the spacing with these kids is not going to be what we had hoped. We wanted Payton and the new baby to be really close in age, so we could raise them together kind of. But now Payton will be three and a half when this baby is born, at the very youngest. Which, as you know, is only a short while from school age, a point which will afford us a lot more freedom- both financially and otherwise (our daycare fees will be a LOT cheaper once she's in school). Also, Gage is going to be ten when this hypothetical baby is born. We had agreed before that once our oldest is in his double digits then it's definately too late to start all over again.
What's more is that I know that realistically, we can't really afford for me to take another year off work. I would get EI but the wages are pathetic- only half of the salary that I'm accustomed to and that we count on to pay bills.
It was very difficult for me to even consider this. But yesterday at work I made a list of pros an cons of having a third child and I could tell at a quick glance that the cons easily outnumbered the pros. The exercise also made me realize that the number one reason why I want to have another baby is to replace Reid. And honestly, I'm not so sure that that's really a great reason to have another child. We still haven't made a firm decision one way or another. But the more that I think about it the more I must admit that perhaps we should simply be happy with what we have. The other thing is that I have always wanted to take Gage on a vacation. But if we have another baby we won't be able to go anywhere for a long time- I'll be tied down for nine months with the pregnancy and then another year or so afterwards with breastfeeding. Geoff and I have talked a bit about maybe taking the kids on a Disney Cruise next winter- a vacation of a lifetime for all of us. But that will be out of the question with a new baby.
These are difficult decisions to make. At times I feel good about the fact that we should just stop trying. But at times it tugs painfully at my heart. I want to see that positive line on a pregnancy test one more time. To hear that heart beat on Doppler for the first time again. To feel movement from within. To experience the sensation and satisfaction of seeing a baby asleep at my breast. But perhaps I must give up on this dream.
Anyways, this a bigger dilemna than the coffee pot, which as you know, took several grueling staff meetings to hammer out the decision. Geoff has agreed that if we decide not to have another baby he will have a vasectomy, the only thing I would agree to. I said if YOU don't want another baby then YOU can go and get fixed. I have some doubts about his going through with this so I could still end up pregant anyways. But anyways, in the meantime, I will welcome your input and feedback on this issue.
Friday, March 2, 2007
Hell might have froze over...
Well, I guess I missed the weather report, but it seems to have happened. Hell has actually frozen over. Or at least thats the conclusion I've reached after it the unimaginable has finally come to fruition. OUR NEW BED IS HERE!!!!!!
Geoff and had our first sleep on it last night (among other things. Wink, wink). It was quite enjoyable, I must say (the sleep, that is, althought the other stuff was OK too). You are all invited to come in and test it out. It's really something.
Other news: Our dog, JD, got her hair cut, much needed. I was holding out on getting it cut b/c of the crappy weather. It seems cruel to shave her down when its minus sixty six outside. But now that the weather is breaking, we took her in and got her clipped. She is looking very cute. Almost as cute as Baxter. That is her featured in the picture. She is now the Alpha dog, which means that she is supposed to be at the top of the dog social structure. But Baxter doesn't understand this. He thinks HE's the alpha dog. So needless to say, the two really don't get along well at all. But they're cute.
Other than that, same old same old for me. I have been deep into my American Idol watching so have little time for anything else as it is on three times a week now. I still have not heard anything back from any of the magazines I submitted my article to. In a way I think that's actually a good thing, as it may mean that they're actually considering it. Or, alternately, they think it is such utter drivel that it is not worthy of a response at all. Hard to say. Well, thats it for now. Hamburger Helper is a very delicate meal and I must not mess around. Got to get back in that kitchen to slave away. Peace out.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
HGP7
“Mrs. Jacobson, if I may, it occurred to me while I was researching this stuff for you that, that perhaps I could… uhm…help you?” I concluded, not really sure how to word it appropriately. What is the polite way to say ‘sell you some uterine space’?
“Help me?” she said, raising her eyebrows into an impossibly high arch and lighting a cigarette. “How so?” It seemed obvious that she thought the idea was preposterous. An insignificant little commoner like me, helping her? Was it preposterous? Perhaps. But I had to find out.
“It was just a thought, but I’ve had a bit of a rough go here lately. Student loans, car payments, and then there was my ex, who ran up all my credit cards before he… before he…anyways, that’s not the point. The point is that we can help each other.”
She dragged on her cigarette and then French inhaled it. “This is a lot to consider, Kristina,” she answered after a moment.
“I know,” I replied. A part of me couldn’t believe it I’d said it in the first place. Was I really considering this? Could I really go through with this?
“You’d be going through invasive procedures, pregnancy, childbirth. You’ll experience discomfort, pain, weight gain, be marred with stretch marks. Of course you would be compensated, but would you really, truly, be able to handle all of that? Are you not getting married, Kristina?”
Never mind the fact that I hadn’t worn my wedding band for the last six months, or the fact that I mentioned that the wedding was off right in front of her at the ‘festive party’ which, as you well know, was neither festive nor a party.
“No, I’m not getting married.” Hadn’t I just mentioned an ex? Does she listen to me at all? “And as for whether or not I can handle all of that, I don’t know,” I answered honestly. She wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement for the whole thing.
“I shall have you speak with a counselor, to determine your suitability as a candidate. The one thing that you must understand, Kristina, is that Horrace and I have experienced a great deal of disappointment. Four miscarriages. One adoption that fell through at the last moment. We cannot endure another loss.”
I simply nodded. What could I say? I couldn’t very well guarantee her a child, for it was totally out of my control. I didn’t really know how fertile I was, I’d never tried to get pregnant before. In fact, I’d actively avoided pregnancy for the previous ten years.
There was a moment of awkward silence, and for a moment I thought she was done with me. But then I realized, she was trying to figure out a way to thank me, something with which she was clearly unaccustomed.
“Kristina, I do consider your offer very generous,” she said while butting her half smoked Slim in an overflowing ashtray.
I guess that was the best she could do.
“Help me?” she said, raising her eyebrows into an impossibly high arch and lighting a cigarette. “How so?” It seemed obvious that she thought the idea was preposterous. An insignificant little commoner like me, helping her? Was it preposterous? Perhaps. But I had to find out.
“It was just a thought, but I’ve had a bit of a rough go here lately. Student loans, car payments, and then there was my ex, who ran up all my credit cards before he… before he…anyways, that’s not the point. The point is that we can help each other.”
She dragged on her cigarette and then French inhaled it. “This is a lot to consider, Kristina,” she answered after a moment.
“I know,” I replied. A part of me couldn’t believe it I’d said it in the first place. Was I really considering this? Could I really go through with this?
“You’d be going through invasive procedures, pregnancy, childbirth. You’ll experience discomfort, pain, weight gain, be marred with stretch marks. Of course you would be compensated, but would you really, truly, be able to handle all of that? Are you not getting married, Kristina?”
Never mind the fact that I hadn’t worn my wedding band for the last six months, or the fact that I mentioned that the wedding was off right in front of her at the ‘festive party’ which, as you well know, was neither festive nor a party.
“No, I’m not getting married.” Hadn’t I just mentioned an ex? Does she listen to me at all? “And as for whether or not I can handle all of that, I don’t know,” I answered honestly. She wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement for the whole thing.
“I shall have you speak with a counselor, to determine your suitability as a candidate. The one thing that you must understand, Kristina, is that Horrace and I have experienced a great deal of disappointment. Four miscarriages. One adoption that fell through at the last moment. We cannot endure another loss.”
I simply nodded. What could I say? I couldn’t very well guarantee her a child, for it was totally out of my control. I didn’t really know how fertile I was, I’d never tried to get pregnant before. In fact, I’d actively avoided pregnancy for the previous ten years.
There was a moment of awkward silence, and for a moment I thought she was done with me. But then I realized, she was trying to figure out a way to thank me, something with which she was clearly unaccustomed.
“Kristina, I do consider your offer very generous,” she said while butting her half smoked Slim in an overflowing ashtray.
I guess that was the best she could do.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)