If you know me at all, you’ll know I’m a crazy dog lady.
It was the early ’90s. I was at a friend’s Batmitzvah and I was sat at a table full of very pleasant girls, one of whom could not get over the outfit another of the guests was wearing.
I was about six years old, in grade two at school.
There is almost nothing as disappointing as ordering food at a restaurant, expecting it to be delicious and having those expectations smashed into a trillion unpalatable pieces the minute your tastebuds decide to protest your culinary choices.
It’s Wednesday today. I can’t help but think that Wednesday is the most boring, snore-inducing day of the week. Not far enough away from unpopular, dorky Monday and still too far from the joys of fun Friday.
You know how sometimes you have those days where you want to scream ‘Fuuuuuuck Youuuuuuuuuu!’ at the mundanity of life? (No? Just me? That was awkward!)
Well, you will be heartened to know that according to The Guru you are a ‘multi dimensional being’, living an experiential existence wherever you are right now, while other aspects of your personality live in different countries and centuries simultaneously.
(NB: I could not possibly imagine how I was going to illustrate this post, so I decided that on this occasion, it was probably safer for all of us if I just stuck with the words…)
Sometimes you have those days that you never forget (try as you might). This story is about one of those days. This story is about the day my manager shat her pants.
I asked my parents for a ‘baby book’. That in itself is an ambiguous request and one that I clearly didn’t articulate well.
I can still vividly remember what I was hoping for. I must have been about 12, and Tutti’s friends were having babies. One of them had this amazing book about birth. Graphic pictures of foetuses in utero, at different stages of incubation. I was fascinated by these pale pink, beady eyed aliens. Fascinated.
I asked for a baby book.
I wanted this:
Instead, I got this:
Not quite what I had in mind. But very educational.