I'm a good person. I'm kind. I'm empathetic. I'm the person who always remembers birthday. I usually know what to say in times of crisis. I buy presents for no particular reason other than I know someone who would like it.
I say all of this so you won't think less of me when you read this post and interpret the venom I spew and the judgements I make.
I was at the laundromat yesterday afternoon to wash my comforter so I could pack it away until fall. Even though it snowed today (yes, snowed!), I'm bored with my big pink comforter. Want to put it away and pull out the pretty flowers on my thin summer quilt.
More background on me -- when I'm in public, I'm not a talker. I do nothing to invite the person in line behind me at Wegmans to tell me their life story. I do not give off any signs that I'm wanting to have a conversation with you. I'm not rude, but I'm there to buy my groceries/deposit my money/do my laundry/etc, not to chit chat.
So I'm not sure why the 30-something in her pajamas needed to come up to me, with her baby, and start to tell me that she had six more kids at home. I was reading my email on my phone. I grunted and smile an appropriate response. Looked at the baby, said hello, made her smile, and went back to my phone.
More talk from baby momma. *Sigh* "How old is she?" I heard myself say.
"She's very cute."
Back to my phone. "Yup. I got six at home. Well, five are mine, plus my husband's kid."
"Yea, and she's five months and then..." She pats what looks like a normal pudgy belly on someone who has birthed six kids. I wouldn't have called her fat and she certainly didn't look....but oh yes....she was. Because these people seek me out. "Plus I'm pregnant with twins."
Oh dear lord. This woman, who looks like she doesn't have a pot to piss in, with skanky tattoos up and down her arms, in clothes I wouldn't wear around my house let alone go out in public wearing, is pregnant with twins. On the heels of the five-month-old.
I could feel the tears spring to my eyes as she told me how she fell to the floor when the doctor told her. "'Cuz my husband uses condoms."
Classy. Thanks for sharing that tidbit.
"And they were good condoms. From Planned Parenthood."
Of course they were.
"But condoms are only something like 80% effective. I didn't know that."
Anyone who saw the episode of Friends when Joey found out condoms aren't 100% effective -- or paid attention during sex ed class -- knows that.
I tried to figure out how I can say what I'm thinking.
You have seven children, plus two on the way, that you look as though you can barely afford. I tried for three years to get pregnant. For just one. Just one. I've been waiting another year to bring my child home. Where's the justice? Where's the fairness? Why do you get this? And oh by the way, that pack of cigarettes on the baby's lap....is it considered age-appropriate if they're still wrapped in their cellophane?