Monday, March 18, 2013

I went to the funeral

"What do you do now?  Oh, you teach preschool?  Didn't you want to be a real teacher?"
or, looking pointedly at my sister-in-law beside me
"When will it be your turn Tina? When are you going to have your own kids?"
I ignore the first set of questions.  Or I answer them as civilly as possible, ignoring the judgemental overtones.  The second set of questions gets a very pointed answer I've honed well.  In my family most of the women have dropped out of high school to have children.  I'm not sure any of them went to college except me.  So I've faced this question in some form for the last fifteen years.  I know what to say and I can sell it pretty well by now.
"I don't want children." I lie to near strangers who think my reproductive choices are their business.  When they continue to press, as they always do, I give them my patented "You're an ass" smile, laugh just a bit, and say "Well I get plenty of cuddles at work and from my niece and nephews, so I don't miss that.  And when I get home after a rough day, I can enjoy a bottle of wine.  And go to the bathroom by myself."  Everyone laughs and I slip away to be attacked again by another well meaning family member hoping to entertain herself until the funeral service starts. 
Lather.  Rinse.  Repeat until the funeral service starts.

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