I love a telephone survey. For real.
So this poor kid has my phone number – the last land line in non-Christendom – pop up on his list of people to call. God love the child, he didn’t know what he was in for. His calls for tonight were to ask questions about where people buy food. Lord.
Highlights from him: “Can you spell that for me?” “Do you consider that a food store?” “I understand.” (When clearly he didn’t but wanted me to shut the fuck up about how low prices aren’t necessarily a good value when it comes to food.)
Highlights from me: “Nope.” “They don’t carry that.” “Well, if by ‘selection’ you mean excessive fake choices, then I’d give them a 9.”
And then the “demographic information”…. Heh. Yes, I am of Hispanic Origin (thanks for asking!). And my “household income” is the lowest you have on your scale. And I’m white, which you like to call Caucasian, which is ok with me. And I’ve moved into the next age bracket, so I am no longer what you might call youthful.
“Thank you and I hope you have a nice evening.” You, too, kid. You, too.
Ok, so remember I used to be sort of funny? Sometimes, I mean. Before infertility beat me down? Before everything sort of fell apart last month?
(Um, yeah. I clearly didn’t really tell you about all that. Uh, sorry?)
Anyway, yes. Here I am. Fertility on the back burner. Trying to make it through. But here I am, as cho-girl and I used to say.
Speaking of cho-girl, we are back in the saddle at school. And, predictably, it is kicking my ass. However, I also get fun things like a 1 year old noticing a classmate changing clothes:
Me: “Yes, she’s naked. She must be changing her clothes.”
Child takes self up to other part of classroom to watch. I want to give him a big A+ on his toddler report card, but I don’t because we are all about intrinsic motivation.
There are, yes, many good things to be learned in my class. This is not to say that this is a funny, but to point out (to me) that there is more to my life than slogging along the “path” of infertility.