I'm a talker. If you've read any of my stuff that shouldn't surprise you. I write just like I talk. And somehow by my writing everyone can tell that I talk fast. And I talk a lot. And the problem with people who talk fast and a lot is that eventually they talk themselves into trouble. Enter my friend and coworker Jancy. She is the anti-Lori. I'm the anti-Jancy. And the way we each handle the Mother's Day debacle is no different. At one point in time, Jancy and I had a lot in common. A few things, in fact, we had in common with each other that we didn't have in common with the vast majority of our other coworkers. Neither of us had kids. Neither of us was Christian. So we both had Mother's Day wishes and Christmas wishes to contend with. Jancy did it expertly. I did it like an idiot.
Every year before Christmas, Jancy would be a woman of few words... and of course, Lori would talk herself into a deep, dark, bottomless pit through which she's still tumbling. Jancy is Indian. I think most people wouldn't automatically assume she's Christian as opposed to any other religion. Yet people would say: "Merry Christmas" to her non-stop for the entire month of December and Jancy would say: "Thank you. Same to you." And be rid of them.
I, for some unknown reason, feel the need to enlighten people. Well not really "enlighten". I always have to set the damn record straight. So people would say: "Merry Christmas" to me and I would say:
"I don't celebrate Christmas". Then they'd want to know what I celebrate. Or they wanted to know why I don't celebrate Christmas. Or they'd say they understood that I didn't celebrate Christmas but still wanted to know why I didn't buy a tree. And on and on and on and on. It would have been faster if I'd just converted to Christianity.
Then there's Mother's Day. People would say to Jancy: "Happy Mother's Day" and she would of course say: "Thank You. Same to you." Then they'd leave and she'd close her door and move on to the next ignorant well-wisher.
Not me. I'd see the greeting approaching and suck in my breath. "Happy Mother's Day" "I'm sorry. I don't know how to respond to that." "What? What do you mean?" "Well, my mother died decades ago and I don't have any kids. I mean I'm trying. I mean I've been trying for a while. We've had all the tests done. My husband's fine. His sperm seem to be plentiful and swimming in the right direction. I have all my parts, don't get me wrong, and I think they're working. Maybe my eggs are just old. Anyway, I've gone through four cycles of artificial insemination and had an egg retrieval and we're doing IVF..."
In the time it took me to tell that ridiculous saga, they could have walked across the parking lot, gotten into their car, and been half-way home. But no, I had to be a schmuck and prolong the agony for everyone concerned. Well at least I know there goes one person who will never say "Happy Mother's Day" to me again.
As for Jancy, if I show her this post, she'll tell me it's good and keep on moving. She won't even mention that I've spelled her name totally wrong so people would know how to pronounce it. Which, by the way.... is driving me crazy. Let me just set the record straight: It's Jhansi.