So, what were we talking about? Oh right. The intriguing notion that we all just got great news: That this whole infertility debacle that we've been referring to as "my life" for the past two months, two years, or twelve years was all just a big misunderstanding. And today, (as the fantasy goes) we all found out that this was going to be the very last infertile day of all of our lives.
So tomorrow, we'd all be pregnant, have great pregnancies where we all became slimmer and more beautiful as the weeks progressed...
... and in an all-natural, pain-free underwater birth had a fantastically perfect baby (delivered by mermaids) who was the envy of the neighborhood, after which we'd be able to conceive as much as we wanted just by having our husbands look longingly into our eyes and uttering with his warm breathy breath: "You look hot in that dress. Is it new?"
So if you just found out that all of this was about to happen starting manana, what would you do?
Okay, the first hour, I'd be so excited I'd probably call a press conference and make a speech like I'd just won an Academy Award:
"I'd like to thank my lover Samantha" (I said "Academy Awards" not Tony Awards")
"I'd like to thank the Lord" (I said "Academy Awards" not CMA's)
"I'd like to thank my mother f---ing doctor" (I said "Academy Awards" not VMA's)
No, I would be like a celebrity at the Oscars who's pulled the "down-to-earth" card out of their ass.
"I feel so blessed right now. I mean, I feel super super super blessed. I'm going to do everything I can to give back."
And then, when that glow wore off or at least dimmed just a hair (talk about your mixed metaphor, I think I just made a metaphor goulash), I might realize there are a few people I need to settle the score with as I bid them a fond farewell.
"So, Receptionist Heather, now that you and I won't be seeing each other thrice a week anymore, let me ask you this:
I've been coming here for three years... How is it possible- medically, physically possible... to have a bug up your ass for three years? For a receptionist whose job, I imagine by definition, is to receive people, you're well, really not that receptive to people.
I mean you don't seem to like people at all. I don't like people at all either so I completely understand. But then I wouldn't spend my days greeting cranky, bitchy, suicidal, infertile women day in and day out. And lots of times you were bitchier to me than I was to you. Which, let me tell you Heather, is a losing battle. You just can't out-bitch an infertile woman. It isn't possible. Many have tried.
I mean I totally understand if you need a job. But in three years this was all you could find? I mean, just a suggestion, just thinking out loud here...but maybe they could stick you in with the charts...way back there... far, far, away from any people. I'll bet you're probably a dandy filer. You could curse out the charts all you want. They wouldn't mind. Just a suggestion.
So, anyway, I won't be seeing you anymore because I just found out that this is the last infertile day of my life, so maybe it is just as well that you're still working here.
I mean wouldn't that be a kick in the ass if I finally got over my infertility after having to deal with your sour puss for three years and then you quit and got a job at some other place I go and I had to deal with your miserable self all over again?
Listen I gotta go. It's nice to have a bitch out once in a while. It's so cathartic. I feel like I've been reborn.
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I'll talk with ya again tomorrow.