I’m not typical, normal, or given to being polite. I don’t suffer fools gladly, like gossip well enough, but find most female rites of passage painful and insipid. I try to put on a good show, because, after all, I think someone’s trying to bond with me when they tell me these stories. Or they want admiration or sympathy. Whatever. I’m just saying, I don’t really care when you start blathering on about:
Really? Are you 12? Look, I started in 5th grade, my “best friend” told absolutely everyone, and my mom had to clue me in because I had no clue period meant bleeding from your private spot. Once I got a handle on it, I bought my own supplies because my mom wasn’t up to date on the stuff (having had a hysterectomy when I was born) and that was that. It’s been something like 33 years now. Once a month, like clockwork, except when I was pregnant. It’s no big deal. I don’t get meaner. I don’t have cramps. I’m not jonesing for anything. I don’t miss school, Jazzercise, family events or vacations. I swim when I want to. I don’t care. It’s not a surprise. If you’re having a different experience, I suggest you talk to your doctor.
What the hell level of Dante’s Inferno am I in to have to go through your mental wedding album with you? I’m sure it was the best day of your life and the most important thing you’ve ever done. You probably were beautiful. The vows, exquisite. Blah, blah, blah — flowers; blah, blah, blah — band; blah, blah, blah — toast; BLAH, BLAH, BLAH. Where are you when I can’t get back to sleep at night? Look, I don’t care. I don’t. I never dreamed of getting married. Truly, I didn’t. I never read bridal magazines, tore out pictures of dresses, and fantasized about being a princess. I cannot relate. Please don’t try to make me.
Is it paid for? No? Then don’t tell me about it. When it’s paid for before your inevitable divorce, then I might bother wanting to hear the story. Otherwise, not so much. If it’s an antique or has a cool story behind it, sure. Regular run-of-the-mill deBeers advertising ring in some sort of gumball diamond. Feh. Doesn’t EVERYONE have one? Although Miss Manners assures me I’m simply to declare it beautiful. Whatever.
I’m sure I can outdraw and out-gross you so why bother? You got pregnant, you had a kid, I’m assuming you wanted it, the labor is over, why discuss it? Isn’t this why Lifetime specials occur daily? Something like “My Baby Story.” Write it for the kid. As for me, I’m glad it’s over too.
Mind you, there are always exceptions. Are you funny? Is your story funny? Are you my friend? No, really my friend. If so, then I, of course, want to hear all about it. If not, please go bond with someone else.