I have been trying so hard to come up with something funny to blog about, and honestly? I got nothin’. So instead, I’ll share a story of how someone managed to piss me off this weekend.
Saturday night, a couple of girls I don’t know very well (they’re friends of my friend Linda) were having a combined birthday party, and for some unfathomable reason I was invited, so Kris and I went. Dave was supposed to go too, but he had worked all day, and none of his buddies were going to be there, so I let him off the hook. He stayed home and played video games, and was a very happy camper. (I’m such an understanding wife. Really.) The birthday party was at a bowling alley, so obviously these two girls were totally copying Linda and me, but whatever. Only their party was at a different bowling alley in Seattle, which I must say (for lack of a better word) sucked. They were playing 80’s music when we first got there; I heard both Duran Duran and the Eurythmics, and that was cool. About 15 minutes later, they switched to heavy metal. And it wasn’t even fun, silly metal, they played stuff like Black Sabbath and Motorhead, songs that none of us knew, and it was ear-splittingly loud. Kris asked the DJ if he was going to be playing metal all night, he gave her the metal “horns” hand gesture and said “RAAAWWWKKK!!!” (or something to that effect). Right. Kris and I decided that the only person there that we really knew was Linda, and the music sucked, so we bought each of the birthday girls a drink, wished them much fun and merriment, and we took off.
We spent the rest of the evening playing pool and dancing at a gay club in Seattle that I haven’t been to in ages. It was fabulous.
However, at the party, I had this little exchange that lasted maybe 20 or 30 seconds, and it has managed to burn itself into my brain to such a point that I’m still seething about it. (I’m so full of seething-ness that I’m not even sure that last sentence made any sense at all.) One of the birthday girls, Ashley, is someone who I’ve met now maybe two or three times. I definitely wouldn’t say that we’re friends; in fact, I’m not even sure that I like her. And after this last conversation, I’m pretty sure that I don’t. We’ve spoken maybe twenty words to each other in the entire time I’ve known her. To sum up: I hardly know the chick.
So imagine my surprise when out of the blue, she turned to me and said, “So, have you and Dave had any luck getting pregnant yet?” Wow. I don’t know how she even knows that we’re trying, because I sure as hell didn’t tell her. I’m guessing she heard about it from Linda or one of our other mutual friends. And I suppose it’s really no big deal, I’m just very sensitive about that subject because I’ve had five (5!) cycles since I got off birth control, and no, I’m not pregnant. Yet. (I think the “yet” on the end of her sentence bugged me more than anything.) I don’t really talk about my frustration with that to anyone. Of course Dave hears about a lot of my fears and anxieties, but even then, there’s still an awful lot that goes on in my brain that I keep to myself. I can’t explain why, but it’s a touchy subject, and I’m scared to talk about it because I don’t want to jinx the whole damn thing. But honestly, even if I was pregnant, I doubt that I’d be announcing it to people who barely even qualify as acquaintances, you know?
So, back to Ashley. She asked me if I was pregnant (yet), and I said, “Um, no…” and started looking around the room for any kind of imaginable diversion. (In hindsight, I should’ve pointed to my empty cocktail glass and asked her if she really thinks I would’ve just slurped down a vodka and cranberry juice if I was pregnant. Seriously, lady: duh.) Immediately, she followed up with, “You guys have been trying for a while, haven’t you? Have you been to your doctor about that yet?”
Blink. Blink blink.
I didn’t know how to react to that. In all fairness, she’s the mother of a toddler herself, so maybe she just wanted to share some pregnancy/mommy wisdom with me. But at the same time, doesn’t that seem awfully personal? I mean, especially considering that we don’t know each other very well and the fact that I never told her I was trying to get pregnant? I wanted to say back to her, “Ok, (a) what’s with all the yet’s, (b) define ‘a while’, and (c) is my medical care any of your f-ing business?”
But I didn’t. I just said, “Well, I haven’t been to my doctor lately…” Kris and her flawless sense of timing showed up then to ask if any of us needed refills for our drinks. (Thank god.) I excused myself to the ladies’ room and took deep breaths to get my pulse rate back to normal. I still don’t know why that conversation shook me as much as it did. I guess it was because I was caught off guard. But that was around the time that I decided that honestly? A gay dance club sounded pretty darn good.
I mean, if I was pregnant, would I be able to shake my groove thing to a techno remix of “I’m a Slave 4 U” by Britney Spears, surrounded by hot, sweaty, shirtless men and drag queens? I think not.