I am bleeding, drat it.
Actually, that's exactly what I'd be
expecting to do, just at the moment. However, since I'm on the Pill, I'd have
expected it to begin yesterday and end tomorrow. Instead it began last Saturday
and has been going on uniformly(albeit lightly) ever since. There's a possibility
I missed a pill last Thursday in the frenzy of packing, so this may not be a
problem, but if it's still going on by Friday I'm calling my doctor. This sort of
thing was normal for meback in the days when I wasn't artificially regulated, but
hasn't happened once in the nearly twenty years (!) I've been on the
Pill.
And speaking of TMI, I had the most surreal conversation
Sunday. On Saturday the women from the other local rowng program had been joking
around about one, a firefighter, getting an breast augmentation so that next time
she has to do a rescue the rescuee will have something to hang on to. For the full
visual effect you need to know that whenever they have to rescue someone from a
fall in a bathtub, or, say, a heart attack in a bed, the victims always seem to be
a) completely naked (makes sense, in the tub) and clincally morbidly obese, as in
400-500 pounds. Appealing picture, no? So of course, I winced, and then they
started more or less bragging, along the lines of, "Oh, that's nothing. We get
pretty raunchy around here." You know how people do.
People who know
me well know not to throw me a challenge like that. I don't do it much any more,
because unfortunately I rarely get to hang out around the right kind of assholes
these days, but am quite capable of out-grossing the raunchiest, when I get
started.
However, this time I wasn't even trying. On Sunday they got
onto the topic of breast size again, so I told the story of a heavily endowed
woman I knew in college. She thought the, er, handles made her God's gift to
mankind, emphasis on the man part, so whenever I wanted to irk her I'd start
jumping up and down. And in those days I didn't wear a bra if I could possibly get
away without it, which I generally could, being only slightly convex. It used to
annoy her because even at nineteen, she couldn't do that even with an underwire in
place.
I think of that as a fairly innocuous story, It's one I've
quite probably told to my mother. But this woman, the self-proclaimed queen of
raunch, the one who always talks about how rough the humor is in the firehouse,
got totally grossed out. So I said, "How can you mind that considering what you
were discussing just yesterday?" and she said, "But I was JOKING! I'd never really
get a boob job!"
Well, no shit - I didn't really think her service
credo included altering her body to provide handholds. But she apparently thought
the concrete idea of me going braless was far worse than her hypothetical
proposition. I pushed it for another sentence or two, but eventually had to just
go sit somewhere else or I'd have begun just gibbering, "But ... but ... but..."
Not a productive conversational tactic.
Almost forgot: I
had to go see the judge this morning for the arraignment from my accident a month
ago. He told me not to take Defensive Driving because it wouldn't make any
difference with my insurance, and he waived the fine. So the good part is I don't
have to do anything more or pay anything, and if I got a speeding ticket or
something I could still take the class, but the bad part is it's still on my
record.