Yeah, it IS me again; can you believe it?
Me, neither. I know it's soon. But you know, that's how it is, sometimes: rain, pour, yada-yada.
In any case, no, no, I don't need anything, thanks. I was actually writing to thank you for your promptness in getting back to me on my earlier question about who I was in a past life to deserve the things happening to me here in this one.
I suppose there were hints all along. They do say you are everywhere and there are signs if you know where to look.
I just thought they meant in churches and Bibles and such; maybe in the pretty, snow-covered trees in nature.
It never occurred to me to recognize the other stuff as signs. In hindsight, you were practically beating me over the head, weren't you?
So many, many hints:
My time in the dentist's chair, enduring an uninsured root canal I didn't need; the experience trying to buy a little - OK, a case of - wine; my duties as mother of a child who just possibly could be Satan's spawn; and my slowly coming to terms with the fact that I did, indeed, grow up to be Someone, as long as you're talking about the Someone who comes along eventually to rinse out the empty mayonnaise or peanut butter jar you left in the sink for Someone to clean out, or the Someone who will take care of picking up the towel you threw on the floor, the crumbs you couldn't bother to catch before they fell into the carpet.
But you know me, God. I'm the kind of person who sometimes needs to be hit over the head with things, so I appreciate your cooperation.
For example, when I ignored yet another sign a few months ago, when I learned I had just enrolled Girl in a school that happened to contain a child whose last name was the same as the obstetrician who delivered Girl, you didn't let me shrug it off as coincidence.
You sent home a parent list that right there showed me the child's parents' names and, yep: the boy's father's name was the same as the man who spent 9 months watching me turn into a wide-load truck and watched... well, a couple of other things of a more private nature, as well.
When I didn't get all faint and gaspy at the possibilities, your forced me to notice that, yes, there was a "Dr." right in front of his name.
And when I still tried to blow it off as coincidence, you sent me to attend a school
hazing rite concert, wherein said doctor sat just a few rows away and I was able to determine that indeed it was him, the man who had seen my... well, you know.
And when I just sighed and tried to assure myself that our opportunities for interaction would be limited, what with having children of the opposite sex, and that I could probably get by if I kept my head down and didn't make eye contact for the next seven years, you said no, I would not get off that easy.
And so, yesterday, when I opened an email from the good doctor's wife saying that yes, she and her husband would love to attend the cocktail party for new parents being held at my house Friday night, I was forced to finally accept the answer you had been trying to bash into my head all along.
So thank you for your perseverance.
Thank you, too, God, for taking some undeserved pity on me: Girl, at least, was a C-section.
P.S. If you happen to have any appropriate cocktail chatter for the man who has seen your... um, you know... wouldja send it along, please? Thanks again!
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Posted by MadMad at 12:15 PM