Bowling, Anne Geddes and Va-jj. OH MY!
Why is it that no matter how bitchy I act, strangers still see me and are stricken by a sudden urge to over share? I know for a fact that I am not inviting you in to my warmth with neither a friendly smile nor welcoming body language. Why then, do I know more gruesome & disgusting shit about complete strangers than I do about myself?
Last month at bowling. Pause. Yes, I’m in a bowling league, and yes I have my own purple ball & matching shoes. Moving on.
Last month at bowling, a woman came around collecting money for a fundraiser she was participating in for premature babies. I don’t particularly like this woman. I actually find her quite obnoxious. And to be honest, I’m not usually too ecstatic about babies either (except for my nephew). Most babies are kinda scary looking and seem to have no talent other than to scream & shit on themselves in public. We don’t make calendars of the winos on the subway who do the same, sitting in a head of lettuce and call it cute, so what makes the babies so special? I digress… So this obnoxious woman is collecting money for a fundraiser for premature babies. I can get down with that. I give the lady five bucks. Mostly, to make her go away, but also for the sick babies. I guess, in the midwest, showing any little bit of generosity opens the flood gates of sharing. She starts telling me all about the fundraiser and how she’s had three premature babies and how all of them are going to be doing this walk to raise money together. I think that’s actually pretty cool, so I say, “Wow, that’s really amazing that you’re all able to do that together.” It’s true, I did think that. But I also thought it would be a nice segue for a thank you, and good bye from Ms. Obnoxious. Oh boy, am I still learning my way around the midwest. Let’s replay the scene that followed:
“Wow, that’s really amazing that you’re all able to do that together.”
Imagine this next part in the most stereotypical Chicago-smoker-voice possible,
“Ya know what’s amazing, is how these docs can stitch ya back up. I mean, I’m sittin’ there spread-eagle with my legs in the air and my vagina tore open, thinking I’m gonna die from all the blood and guts poorin’ outta me for hours and them docs are able to sew me back up good as new.”
Umm…. polite, but awkward smile…. I don’t know what to say, so I just respond, “It’s my turn to bowl.”
Yes. FACT. That really happened. Here I was, thinking the cause I’m donating to is the miracle of tiny precious lives and the men and woman who defy the odds in saving them. Turns out, no. Wrong. It’s all about the miraculous salvation of the torn va-jj.
Just one question…
Can I have my five bucks back?