Is It Any Wonder?

Day three of the Great Swimming Experiment yielded new irrational concerns. What if I get swimmer’s shoulders? I don’t think I’m ready to have armpits that can crush walnuts, as convenient as that might be for all that nut-eating I dream of doing with my new body. I mean, running didn’t breed concerns of monster thighs, but with all the breast-stroking, I’m not sure what I’m going to do if I suddenly get big, broad shoulders and my husband calls me Helga.

Separately, I went to the gynecologist today, which was a thrill a minute, given that you lounge around in a paper robe while some dude feels you up then sticks his fingers in your hoo-ha. I actually really like my gynecologist, all things considered, but that’s probably not saying much, given that my first ob/gyn used to smoke while he took my vital signs, never used a nurse while he did the sensitive bits of the exam and later hanged himself in his living room because it came out that he had a cocaine problem and was $400K in debt to loan sharks. Strangely, I liked him too, but mostly because he was hot. We can dissect the implications of that at another time.

Anyway, you know, because I only really go to the gyn once a year unless there’s a problem, he gave me a pregnancy checklist just in case I get pregnant before next year’s exam. And then I hyperventilated and almost fainted and barely even noticed when he stuck his fingers in places I’d rather he didn’t, because GOD, I was walking out of there with a pregnancy checklist. It didn’t help that five seconds after he handed it over, he asked where I was in my cycle (Day 11) and then he brayed like a donkey and announced, “So basically, you’re ovulating RIGHT THIS MINUTE, and could get pregnant TONIGHT. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.”

And then I shot him.

I made that last part up. But I will say I’ve all but worn a plastic bubble over my entire body tonight, and if Ad so much as brushed up against me, I ran away and ate something smelly or farted or picked my nose or something. Brussels sprouts and eggs have been popular choices. Because I have a pregnancy checklist and I am actually afraid to use it.

And finally, because God, the oversharing has to end, my nephew got an assignment at school that required him to write about a story that has been passed down through the family. Instead of choosing, I don’t know, the time his grandparents emigrated from Italy or something, he opted to write, in that clunky prose that only 9 year-old boys can muster, about the time his Uncle Ad got really drunk in college and stole a billboard and got busted by his R.A. The closing line of the essay is “My uncle does a lot of wacky, bad things.”

We’re so proud.

*Keane

25 comments January 23rd, 2007