Right-wing reality check: High income does not necessarily make one a good “catch”

I remember shaving my legs unassisted for the first time. I was about 11 years old, taking a shower, and I yelled something about needing to shave my legs– in moody pre-teen-speak, no doubt.

Mom came into the bathroom, slid the shower door open a crack, and stuck her hand in front of me. I took the razor and Mom disappeared. All of this without her saying a word. My mother had already shown me how to shave; this time it was all on me.

I stared dumbfoundedly at the instrument for a few seconds. Many questions ran across my mind: will I do this correctly? Will I cut myself? Will I hold the razor at the right angle? Am I not a girl, not yet a woman? Do I even have time for this right now?

But never was there ever any doubt in my mind where I was supposed to shave. I knew not to shave my arms or head or back or butt; nor was I to attempt a disastrous return to pre-pubescence. I knew that women shaved their legs from ankle to thigh. No one had to tell me that.

Experiments over entropy

Not funny

It’s been a while since I’ve written on here, which is terrible. But, quite frankly, I haven’t been feeling very funny as of late. That’s because I’ve endured a series of unfunny things. And, to be frank again, I’ve had enough.

Enough!

It’s been so unfunny that I started another blog independent from this, in response– which is sad in more ways than one.

You know it’s time for an update when…

… of course, I’ve been too busy to write properly on here. That’s because I’ve been busy WORKING a JOB! Yes, after more than two years of HELL, someone finally hired me in March, right after my fifth-and-final egg donation. The timing couldn’t have been any better.

After hundreds– and I do mean hundreds, literally– of resumes sent, it is a relief to have a job again. I’m so overwhelmed with happiness, so chuffed, I don’t know what else to say.

Atmosphere

“Do you know where Dr. Who is made?” my mother asked me today.

“No… where?”

“In Cardiff!”

Mom knows how much I like Cardiff, Wales. I also liked the original Dr. Who series as a child– even though the new series, not the original, has to do with Cardiff.

And then I was reminded all over again that there was a funeral in Wales. It’s not Mom’s fault. She didn’t know it was today.