lesbianspaghetti

My Big Fat Life – The End of the World, and Zits

In Uncategorized on September 22, 2017 at 3:24 pm

Today I had to get an ultrasound to see how well behaved my ever bitchy uterus is behaving. As I carefully walked into the building with my full bladder praying I didn’t cough or sneeze, I also prayed the ultrasound tech listened to my request when I made the appointment. I have no idea why, other than the tech likes to fuck with people, but on the ceiling above the table he plays this loop of photos he took. ALL are of water. Fast rushing waterfalls, lakes, streams, you name it. Last time I asked him about it, he was offended and defensively stated they were all photos he took. I wasn’t giving my arm chair photography opinion on the photos, I just asked why he had photos of water above a table with a woman sprawled out trying not to pee all over the floor as he pressed his wand over my bladder like he’s trying to uncover a secret like f*cking Indiana Jones.

I checked in and decided not to sit down, but to lean against the wall while I waited. I couldn’t reassure myself that if I sat down that I could get up with ease. So while I was leaning against the wall, I couldn’t but help hear a family with a screaming toddler as they passed by. An attractive pregnant woman strolled over to the seats as her husband and screaming child took place next to her. I figured she was there for her pregnancy ultrasound and wrote my assumptions as I looked their way. Praying my turn would happen before I suddenly caught the worlds fastest cold and started sneezing, I continued looking at the family. Not because I am a creeper, but because in a very fast chain of events she immediately put her hands on her hubbys face as though she was examining him. Within seconds this attractive pregnant woman started popping her husbands zits on his face. In the waiting room. In front of us all. I thought perhaps he would pull back, but nope. Instead he leaned in and let her go to town. When she was done with his face, she started examining the top of his head. He leaned in further and put his head down for her as she proceeded to pick whatever it was she was picking off the top of his head in this weird zoo like fashion. When she was done with him, she turned her attention onto herself and openly popped whatever it was she could find on her arms. Suddenly sneezing was no longer my focus, but this intimate public display of bonding I had never seen before.

When the tech finally called me back, I was rescued. Seeing he didn’t have the display of photos lopping on the ceiling, I felt even more confident that perhaps my bladder wouldn’t provide my own bodily display of horrors.

I don’t know the results yet, because you know how it goes. There has to be a really long wait, followed by an entire weekend of questioning your life and resolving not to worry about things until they tell you to. I don’t think anything is really wrong, but they did find three lumps that the tech made sure to stop and take several measurements of. Again, I don’t think anything is wrong, and chalked this up to a passive shot at me for requesting the bladder explosion inducing pics not be shown during my tests (let me have this one), 

After finally being able to get up and get dressed, I emerged from the building without seeing Mr & Mrs Zit Popping Daddies and jumped into my car. On the drive home it dawned on me that tomorrow marks two things: Another “end of the world” prediction, and the anniversary of my marriage to the muse of this of this blog birth. It sorta freaked me out as I did the math quickly in my head and realized tomorrow we would have been married 8 years had it worked out. As I reflected upon that fact, I realized that if two women getting married didn’t bring an end to the world, chances are it’s going to survive tomorrow and I’ll still be morally obligated to beg the teenagers to bring me the laundry from their room before it self destructs out of depression, and the entire inventory of cups in the house. 

I don’t regret that we didn’t stay married. It was, in fact, best we had never married to begin with. We were together weeks when we did, and it was my one and only U-Haul experience. I don’t really even regret getting married to her either, because my take away didn’t require a U-Haul and I still carry those lessons with me. Some of it is baggage, I am aware. I think we all have that one box of shit left in the middle of the floor that when opened would reveal some scars. I’m still unpacking those boxes, but I figure it’s really only a major issue if I leave them in the middle of the floor and start walking around them instead of opening them up. Sorta like a zit…

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