Posts from February, 2011
This morning I woke up with a grain of sand in my eye. Or a small rock. Perhaps a malfunctioning nanobot poking me with its incisors. Whatever it was [is!], it fell in last night just before bed, and I thought I had undone it with my trusty Systane before shutting my eyes. But since that was not the case, this morning’s awakening was a rude one, with lots of piercing whole-eye pain radiating from, admittedly, a tiny source in the inner upper. I tried Visine, then a saline flush, then straight water, and more Visine. And then I laid on the bed in my running pants moaning (in my head) about how much it hurt, thinking I was going to throw up, and waiting for it to calm the fuck down, which it didn’t. It swelled up. And up and up and up.
Which is why when I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth, I grabbed a toothbrush and buttered it and stuck it in my mouth, only to realize, Hey, that’s not my toothbrush, at which point I took it out, looked at it through one eye, and stood there frozen for a minute. My husband and I are married for almost five years now. We share lots of things. In fact, one of the things we share, I think, is whatever fell from his face into my eye last night. But one thing we do not share is a toothbrush. And I think it’s funny that something which would have in our early days made me giddy with intimacy (I really liked him), gave me pause today.
However, more than I am not a sharer of dental cooties, I’m not a waster of things, so I couldn’t just wash off the toothpaste already on his brush, and I reasoned that I’d already gone two or three strokes into the exercise anyway. So I finished.
I learned that Eric’s toothbrush is much more interesting than mine. And that I’m behaving more like a man every day.
I thought I would be really happy when I reached the milestone of Consistently Not Carded. And I was, for, like, the first two times. But now I’m all runaway thinking about these wrinkles and all this gray hair. But I’m going to suck it up and call it a win. (When I was sixteen, I had an ID that identified me as Gina Trista, the 32 year old from Staten Island. The photo on that ID [my own] looked older than I do now.)
Anyway, has everyone else noticed baby fever on the internet? I feel like all my friends went and had babies overnight. It’s amazing how all these babies are adorable and even more amazing that babies actually work as a thing. With all those chubs and the frog legs and the color-blindness. Incredible!
And finally, something I hadn’t considered about the sidewalk-hogging parents of Park Slope: they might be thinking of me and other childless, WHY DON’T THEY MAKE WAY? Meanwhile, I’m all, how can you be such a sloppy slob wandering all over the sidewalk out of your lane?
Okay, one more thing. I wonder how much of the time we spend trying to avoid the tragic pitfalls of our parents’ paths is spent actually getting closer to those paths.
Maybe crossing your arms in front of you isn’t standoffish. It’s a self-hug.
Is it bad form to ask the checkout girl why she’s such an unfriendly asshole every time I see her?
Okay, can I throw the tomato she bagged underneath the milk at her instead?