Common enemy

A co worker was telling me about a conversation she over heard (as in it was in a public place and the conversation took place two tables over from where she was eating lunch) the other day that involved prime examples of misogyny and rape culture.  And, the braggart was wearing a Nickelback tee-shirt.

I chimed in with a story from a trip to NOLA a few years ago.  A family seated themselves at a table next to ours at a patio bar.  It was parents and grown children and/or spouses.  The mother was already someone with a "fill up the room" personality.  She was loud and screeched and needed to be the center of attention . . . and then they bought her booze.

At some point in the evening, she joined together several straws, and then used the straws to reach across her table/our table and start drinking from my glass.  I SHIT YOU NOT! A total stranger created an extended straw to bogart my drink.  Her children were horrified (and bought me a new drink) and she and her family were invited to leave.

And, they were all wearing Nickelback tee-shirts.

Nickelback sucks.

Denial kicking in

I don't know if I should be angry, confused, horrified, or making plans to move to a Scandinavian country.  The American humans seem to be enthralled by The Donald as a presidential candidate.  Originally, I think most folks thought this was some fringe effort on his part, and soon another candidate would emerge and he'd be forgotten.  But, the media seems to be fanning the flames and the other candidates seem to not know exactly how to respond to this wack job's antics.

So much of his rhetoric makes me wonder if he's not pulling the greatest troll job ever.  A few weeks ago, the Phenom and I had this semi-serious conversation based on the scenario that The Donald manages to be elected President and then when he realizes the financial hit and responsibilities/restrictions the position imposes, refuses to take the oath of office and what sort of constitutional crisis would that create?

Last night, a friend and I played a game of "what could The Donald have to do to get the majority of the American public to turn against him?"

She suggested burning a flag and a bible inside a church.  My suggestion was him being caught on a hot mike scheming to sell this "effin' country" to the Chinese and make billions and billions of dollars on these rubes"  . . . and of course we had several sexual and violent suggestions.  But, in the end, we were dismayed to admit that in all of our imagination, we could not come up with a scene in which he would lose ALL support . . . some asshat out there would still be a fan boy/girl.

Sigh.

Confessions

One aspect of my relationship with Phenom is that we actually inspire each other to be our best selves.  (I know, gag.)

He has become more patient with others because of conversations we've had about struggles I've seen from other humans.  I want to be more generous because of his example.

But, I also find that we have this odd little accountability ritual.  We confess to each other when we were selfish or lacked compassion or decided to not be our best selves.  We actually never admonish each other as a result of these confessions.  In fact, we usually validate the choice.  But, it's interesting.

This realization came about the other day when I confessed that I had not been generous.

One of the people who works in my office is sometimes referred to as "the original freeloader" by others in the office.  She constantly is hinting around that we should give her whatever it is that we have . . . food, make-up, gadgets, clothes.  She doesn't just admire our things, she out-and-out asks for them. My tact is usually to laugh and act like it's an absurd notion. . . me giving you the scarf I wore today.  (And, it is absurd, right? The asking, in itself, is absurd, right?)

So, the other day, she popped into my office when I was eating my lunch.  I'd made myself a large "asian" citrus chopped salad from a kit.  The package itself was large enough that it could easily have been a side item for a meal for a group of people.  But, it was my whole lunch . . . that and a chicken breast I'd brought for protein.  I was more than half way through my salad when she sat down.  She asked what I was having.  She exclaimed that she was really quite hungry.  She told me that she really thought that salad looked good and that she wished I'd brought enough to share.  She asked several times what was in it?  Where did I get it?  How much was in the package? Did I really eat the whole thing for a meal?  Gee, I wish I'd brought lunch with me today.

I let her go on, without suggesting that she should share in my salad (I was eating straight from the bowl . . . no one expects you'd share from your ACTUAL bowl, right?)  I didn't mention that I had a whole, uncut chicken breast in a container on my desk that I planned to eat after I finished the salad.  I suspected she would have expected me to give her the chicken.  But, I'd not had protein with my breakfast, and I had a salad planned for dinner . . . I needed a few grams of protein intake for the day.

Still, I felt as if I had not been generous.  I felt that I'd been selfish, and I should confess.  The Phenom, of course, agreed that her insinuation that I should share my lunch was absurd, and I had no reason to feel guilty.

Confession is good for the soul.  So is validation from your loyal friends.

Pondering

A milestone date is coming up.  It is the birthday of the friend who died about a year and a half ago.  I was lucky to be able to spend his last birthday with him, but that also makes all subsequent birthdays more emotional for me.

This evening, I was contacted by one of his relatives.  She apologized because she only learned of his death several months after the fact and feels guilty that she wasn't able to "be there" for his family/loved ones.  She's asked for more information about his death.

This is a person I've known for many years, and most of them, I had most unpleasant opinions of her.  (She's not a terribly nice person, but she's had her own miseries in life.)  She's recently tried to be pleasant to me, which on one hand is nice but on the other tweaks my natural paranoia.  

So, do I fill her in on my friend's death?  Do I decide that she knows enough?  Do I dredge it all up, right when I'm already being mopey about it?  Do I take the opportunity to receive comfort when I need it?  

Sigh.

Bait and Switch

Ah the age old scam.  We fell for it.  We arrived to look at one model, were shown a smaller, sleeker model . . . but then some how ended up with something spastic.  I'm speaking, of course, of the Humane Society.

Many years ago, long before social media existed, we read a tale of woe in our local paper about a dog at the humane society shelter.  We had already spoken of getting a dog, since we'd moved into a home with a fenced in back yard.  We went to inquire, and were told that the dog we were interested was no longer available but were shown a cute puppy who fetched the ball and gave kisses and was adorable.  Paper work was completed, we went home to see if we passed their background check, and two days later, we picked up Chester.  We got him home and released him into the yard, only to watch him go completely nuts.  He ran like his tail was on fire and was generally hyper.  After watching this for a couple of minutes, the Phenom and I both said, at the same time, "you know, I thought he was smaller."  To this day, although it turns out that Chester was the perfect pick of a dog for us, we still aren't entirely sure we weren't baited, baited, and switched.

Well, it's happened again.  This time to a friend.  

A friend reposted pictures of a super pretty, fluffy kitty at the humane society.  One picture in particular was so breathtaking that she decided to give the kitty a home.  She went to inquire and was told that this particular kitty had a sibling that was very shy and needed to be adopted with the one they'd posted.  She was caught in a moment of weakness and agreed.  She took both kitties.  They are both beautiful, but the second one is needing much more care to acclimate to her home.

Then, this morning, the humane society posted that the pretty kitty had gone to his new "furever" home with his NEW brother.  NEW  . .  as in not actually siblings.  HA!  Suckers!

Math Problem

3 people in an office
4 days
4 rolls of toilet paper
during the 4 days, every day at least one person was out for the day

HOW?

The New Lotto

The lotto is such a fickle financial plan, I get why people are trying other get rich schemes.  Yes, crowd source funding is the new lotto.  Come up with something that catches attention, and you too can be raking in the moolah.

Of course, everyone knows about the dude who crowd funded his potato salad to the tune of thousands of dollars.  And, there was the bus monitor that was bullied . . .only her crowd fund was started by someone well meaning.  But, there are also those horrible grandparents whose dog mauled their grandchild, and they falsely claimed that employees of a over-salted brand of chicken publicly shamed the child in order to shill people.

Frankly, I'm more inclined to believe that most crowd funding pleas are the shilling sort rather than the bullied old lady sort.  (I don't trust humans much, do I?)

In the past week, two of my acquaintances have tried their hand at crowd funding.  One is raising funds for her vet bills.  She is a single mother, she has brought quite a few animals into her home, and can't afford to care for them properly.  (And, I say this with a tone of judgement in my voice knowing how many critters are in my household.)  I think her circle of friends may be more sympathetic to her financial woes if they a) had not spent the whole summer listening to her whine about the cost of child care (which is terrible, but don't be bringing in a new, sick kitty, if you can't take care of your existing bills), and b) if they didn't know that she makes a fairly decent income working in a law office and lives rent free in a house her parents own (oh, and that her boyfriend freeloads off of her too).  The other, a single mom, has lost all her teeth to a medical condition, and her government funded health coverage will only pay for replacement teeth every five years.  The teeth she received through her government funded health coverage (not medicaid or medicare, in case you were wondering) a couple of years ago didn't fit properly, but the dentist refused to waste his time fixing them when there was no money in it for him.  She is trying to raise roughly the same amount as the person seeking vet bills assistance.

Is it mean of me that I'm kinda pleased that the friend needing teeth is "ahead" in the fundraising?

I wonder if I could crowd source fund NOT taking over the planet?

Yumminess

My favorite season has finally arrived . . . farmer's market season.  Tonight's dinner was my faux ratatouille.  Phenom isn't a fan of eggplant, so I use potatoes instead.  Tonight, I had some andouille sausage I sliced up and sauteed before throwing the veggies (peppers, potatoes, onion/garlic/ and squash) in the pan.  I added in some veggie broth and cooked until the squash was crisp/tender.  A new item on the table tonight was purple cauliflower.  Yes.  PURPLE.  See:

There are no filters on this picture.  After cooking, the blues in the purple came out and the steaming water was as purple as kool-aid.  It tasted exactly like white cauliflower, only better because it was locally grown and picked just yesterday.  I wish the Old Woman could have seen it.  She use to marvel at the beautiful color of purple onions.  She would have loved this.

However, my food snob has been tweaked.  One of the farmers was selling fresh blueberries at the market yesterday.  It is too early for the blueberries to have been local.  WHY WOULD YOU SELL NON LOCAL FOOD AT THE FARMER'S MARKET FOR CRISSAKES?  We are another month from local blueberries being available.  And, then one of my friends told me that at her big, urban farmer's market (same state), she bought fresh peaches.  Again, it's another two months from peaches.  WHY!!!!????  Just go to the grocery store and get some shit that got trucked in from South America.

Sorry.  That got a bit more passionate than I expected.  But, still . . . you defeat the whole "local and fresh" thing when you buy out of season, even at the farmer's market.

Another step

In reward for my being dedicated to getting into shape last year, I gifted myself (for Christmas. . . I may not go to church, but I don't pass up gifting opportunities) a pre-paid, year membership in a gym.  And, 10 days into the new year, I got sick.  Today, almost 4 months later, I finally walked back into the gym.

I like to do the exercise thing early in the morning.  Which, for those of you who actually know me, is shocking.  I love sleep.  I love my bed.  I love rolling over for another two hours of "nap" after I wake up.  I like the post breakfast nap and the after lunch nap and the before dinner nap and the after dinner nap.  I love sleep.  And, I do it really well.

I gave myself permission to reset my alarm if I didn't feel up to snuff at 5:30 this morning.  But, I didn't do that.  I got up and grabbed my shoes and water bottle and headed out the door.  Only, as I pulled out of my neighborhood, I realized I'd forgotten my iPod.  And, when I arrived at the gym, I saw they had a bunch of new machines and I could not figure out how to use them.  Finally, I found one of the older ones not being used.

I didn't do much of a work out.  But, I worked out.  And I had a yogurt and raspberry smoothie (homemade with real fruit, not fruity syrup) for breakfast.  Tomorrow, I'll remember my iPod.  I might even ask how the new machines work.

Now, if I could stop looking like Troop 48's first aid exhibit, we might actually think life has returned to normal.

How you know the machines hate you

The Phenom has some luddite tendencies, except for checking sports scores and buying stuff (lots of stuff).  Although, he seems to appreciate the connection he can make with some of his friends through my grid, I think he'd give it up if he could or it suddenly disappeared.

Me, well, The Old Woman loved a gadget.  She often remarked that she wished that her mother had lived to see television because she just knew her mother would have loved soap operas.  The Old Woman always said that you should be open to new things, because you never know what your favorite is, unless you try as much as you can.  I generally apply this to new chip flavors.  But, I admit, I like a gadget.  Now, I did give up my smartphone because the ongoing cost didn't seem worth the hassle. But, I have the fancy kindle and a mini-laptop computer.  Plus, kitchen gadgets galore (including a molecular gastronomy play kit waiting for me to be back to myself for some foodie experimentation).

But, I also realize that the machines are some times out to get you.

I once had a car that only broke down when I was far from home.  Well, that's not true . . . the ONLY time it broke down in town, The Phenom was out of town and I found myself stranded at a car repair shop and no ride home at the close of business and we had no car rental outfits at that time.  Bastard car.

This wound vac attached to the gaping slice in my gut also hates me.  The night they set it up, it spent much of the time beeping at me.  Fortunately, we stayed an extra night in the hospital because it would have made me a nervous wreck if they'd sent me home . . . exhausted, in pain, and with some piece of machinery that was totally foreign to me that wouldn't stop beeping.  The next time, it had a full canister . . . at 3am.  I had to ease myself out of bed, rummage through the HUGE box of supplies and then flip through a large instruction book to figure out how to change it.

Last night, it decided it had a blockage.  I followed the instructions in the manual and it shut up . . . for a bit.  At 2am, I found myself on the phone with the home health nurse in a total panic (I do not want to have to return to the hospital).  Her solution worked and today the bugger has behaved itself (but not before causing a restless night of semi-sleep).

Just a few minutes ago, it just stopped making noise. (It is just about 1am as I write this.)  I turned it on and off . . . no luck.  I checked the canister and it was full, only the alarm to tell me it was full wasn't beeping.  I anticipated the new canister (after the last middle of the night change) and had it waiting.  It is humming along now . . . plotting its next middle of the night annoyance, no doubt.

Not in a cage

Well, I didn't wake up in a cage in an undisclosed location.  So, either my surgeons didn't figure out the big secret (which would make one wonder how good they really are?) or they had compassion . . . or worried that outing me would mean my health insurance wouldn't cover all the messy, icky things they did to me.  Probably the health insurance stuff.

They actually managed to take me back early.  I've been trying to remember what I remember.  I remember the little guy trying really had to pull up a vein so he could get the initial IV in . . . and the doctor telling me that they would get a larger one in once I was "out" and wouldn't feel them digging.  Fun!

I did tell the doctors about how Phenom likes to do an impression of the Alien from the movie Alien and how my response is always to yell "I don't want to kiss the alien" and if they witnessed this after they started giving me the "good" drugs, not to be alarmed.  Ah, the things we have to confess to in the course of medical treatment.  I remember moving over to the operating "table"  . . . and them setting up arm boards for me   . . . I seem to vaguely remember a woman with glasses peering at me and then nothing.

I woke up in a darkened recovery area  . . . I remember there being quite a few "beds" around me.  There was a tube in my nose that went into my stomach to keep me from dying in a pool of my own sick.  There were tubes and wired coming out of me from all angles.  They finally brought the Phenom back.  He was tremendously happy and enthusiastic to see me.  I suspect as each second of the surgery ticked by, a year came off his life.

The original plan was for him to spend the night and go home early Thursday to give midterm exams.  But, they told us that I wouldn't get a room until possibly noon the next day because the hospital was full up.  Phenom was willing to camp out in the waiting room all night.  But, they convinced him to go home.  So, he brought my bags in and reluctantly left.  About 1 am I got a room.

The way to become every nurses' favorite patient is a) have your belongings in a Holly Aiken bag that reads "am I in the mood for evil or pie? on the front (lift the flap and it says "evil") and b) have several copies of the "Better Pain Scale" for your nurses to better communicate with you.

Thursday, I was totally worthless.  They gave me morphine in my IV for a while and seemed to respond more to my indications of pain than some prescribed schedule.  Then, they set up a morphine pump for me.  They also took the nose to stomach tube out . . . which made me feel like I was drowning.  I kept forgetting to hit the morphine pump until I'd hit the point where I was past the point when it would have been really helpful.

Friday, they made me get up and move to a chair . . . which was accomplished with much cursing and several people pulling me along . . . and I counted the minutes until I could get back to bed. Then, they changed my wound dressing . . . . which is complicated and let's just say there are not stitches, they want the skin to heal itself . . . but it's a big wound.  It was hands down, the most painful experience I've ever had.  There was much cursing and pathetic behavior.  THEN, they discovered that a big dose of pain meds had been ordered to be given 30 minutes before the procedure.

Today, they took me off the morphine pump and I'm now on a med that has a serious street value.  The first dose, we decided to go down the middle of the range the doctor had prescribed  . . . and it knocked me into a dopey sleep.  So, we've cut back and seem to have hit the happys without the nap.  And, I was able to get up and move to the chair with no profanities.  Progress is being made.

But, there are still miles to go before I stop annoying the doctors . . .

And the power and control wheel turns

We're in love again.  He said all the right things.  He surprised me with a little gift.  Now, I'm all giddy again.  I'm sure, in a week's time, I'll think the doctor the most cruel person ever to walk the earth.  (Well, in a week's time I probably won't be conscious. . . details.)

The doctor was eager to explain everything to me . . . welcomed my questions.  Flattered me.  And, surprised me by removing the medical appliance they installed that has been nothing but pain and bother.

OH BOY DO I FEEL GOOD NOW!!!

He even told me I could do some light exercise if I felt up to it.  AND I COULD TAKE LEGITIMATE SHOWERS.  Of course, next week, it will all come to a halt again with surgery . . . but I'm loving the return to something that feels normal for now.

For the first time in weeks, I don't feel like the poster child for the "People of Wal-Mart."  DID I TELL YOU I GOT TO TAKE A SHOWER TODAY?????!!!!!!

I got to go to the office today.  I even made a legitimate meal.  I can bend over and move like a normal monkey again.  And, we're changing up the meds, so perhaps one day I won't have a balloon for a head anymore.

sigh . . . isn't he just dreamy?

Something Very Wrong with this Picture

The other day, the father of my recently departed friend called.  He was cleaning out my friend's apartment, trying to create piles of items to trash, keep, share, and donate.  He wondered if perhaps I wanted my friend's cook book collection.  (I'd be honored!)  I'm pretty sure he was in tears in the few minutes we talked.  I'm pretty sure his hasty hang up was because of tears that threatened to become uncontrolled.

There is something wrong with the way I've been socialized by you humans.  I accept, almost expect, women to cry.  Sad movies (love them), weddings, super happy events, funerals, bad stuff that hurts others . . . women's tears are wholly appropriate.  But, for some reason, I never actually expect men to cry.  When they do, I find it jarring.  I remember nearly every time I've witnessed a human man cry.

There is something wrong with this fact.  Now, I get that many men aren't going to be dabbing their eyes at the sight of a bride having pictures taken in a park. But, it shouldn't be unexpected that a father would cry at the loss of his son.

Work on this one, people.  Don't bring up the next generation to think men are robots.

Indulgence that is probably a waste.

Every year, I buy myself one serious THING and then usually one totally frivolous item.  This year, the THING was this:

The grill with side smoker box for the monkey serious about learning to tame the smoke.  Technically, it's Phenom's birthday gift . . . and the Phenom benefits from my experiments.  Oh, and brine is your friend .  .  . especially brine with beer.

My frivolous item was a subscription to BIRCHBOX .  Once I decided which sort of box would be more appropriate for a monkey . . . I set about ordering.  Once a month, you get a little box of samples.  They are totally random, although there is some attempt, supposedly, to match some of the samples to your preferences.

Beauty products for a monkey?!  I love samples, what can I say?  Plus, this is how I keep my travel bag stocked.  I don't know if the box I got today was really worth $10 . . . but there are several items I think will work beautifully while I travel this summer.  And, as the Old Woman would say . . . you don't know what your favorite thing is unless you try new things.

The Fat Pants

Everyone has them.  Fat Pants.  The largest pair of pants you own, and when you wear them, it's a bad day.

Today, my fat pants are being put into storage . . . and hopefully given away forever.  I could pull them down without unbuttoning/unzipping them.

It's weird to be sorting through clothes that don't fit because they are too big.  And, it's weird to not be able to buy new clothes because you assume they won't last long.  So, it's to the back of the closet I go, in search of pants that won't fall off.  Cute as they are, no one really wants to see a monkey butt too up close.

Green Thumbs and fingers and toes

Several years ago, the Old Man pulled up a couple little blueberry roots for me to plant in my yard.  One survived, the other quickly died.  I replaced the dead blueberry, only for it to die on me too.  And, again, last year, I planted yet another "second" blueberry.  It survived the summer, but this spring was looking decidedly like dried up twigs stuck in the dirt while the original blueberry was leafed out and blooming.

I told Phenom I'd probably managed to slaughter yet another blueberry and to just mow it down.

UNTIL THIS WEEK!!!  And the darned thing has now leafed out.  Too small for blooms, just yet . . . but LEAVES!!! NOT DEAD!!!

Now, the fact it leafs out the week the other bush drops its flowers probably means having two is going to be fairly worthless (cross pollination).  BUT NOT DEAD!!!

I'm claiming victory anyway.

One last shot

My office has several student interns this semester.  Normally, one or two is our limit.  For some reason, this semester we have five.  I think five.  It could be that we only have two and they move around real fast.

Even though graduation is still a month off, two of the interns have already completed their hours.  (They are sticking around to complete projects and because, hey, we're a cool place.)  Two interns are just fine . . . no complaints.  But one intern.  Sigh.  (imagine the song How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria playing softly in the back ground)

This young thing got started on the wrong foot, and now may have dug the hole around her so deep she may not recover.  First, she made herself unavailable for orientation sessions the other interns attended.  Then, when special, make-up sessions were scheduled we had a little "no show, no call" problem.  Finally, when she was pinned down for a time for orientation, she showed up 45 minutes late.  I'd given her supervisor permission to tell her to find a new placement.  But, her supervisor is a recent graduate of the same program and wanted to help out.  Also, we have always gotten good interns from the professor who supervises this program, and we wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Despite expectations for office deportment being covered in orientation, this child consistently shows up late, frequently misses her scheduled hours, and dresses like she is either going to be lounging on her own couch or headed to a night club immediately after work.  On a day when she was scheduled to meet with a client, she was in sweat pants.  One day this week, she showed up in jeans that were a) super tight and b) had slits all the way up the front of her legs with the widest cuts being very high on her thighs.

With just 3 weeks left in the semester, she still has 1/3 of her hours left to complete.  She has left early, or been sent home due to inappropriate dress, everyday this week.

I'm giving her one last shot to wow me.  I got a call from a professor at the local university looking for a speaker for her class next week.

I've told intern that this is her opportunity to wow me.  The class is in her major, and I believe intern has taken a class with this professor.  If she knocks it out of the park, she just might pass her internship.  If she fails miserably, then when I flunk her professors in her own department will say it was justified.

I'm making up my own presentation, just in case.

Snap, Crackle, and Pop

You know how old people make all sorts of joint noises in order to get everything moving again?  Yeah.  Every morning, I have to pop my hip to make walking comfortable.

But the real sign I'm turning into an "old human" is the growing number of supplement bottles on my counter.  Vitamins, joint stuff, fish oil.

I guess the early bed time and knowing which restaurants have the best early bird special isn't too far off.

Strange Territory

At the end of the BBC series of Pride and Prejudice, when Mr. Darcy's aunt is furious that Lizzy won't promise to never become engaged to Mr. Darcy, she drives off with the weak "I send no greetings to your mother" as if this is the final possible insult she has left.  I totally pulled a more subtle form of "I send no greetings" this week.

Back story: I have an ex that I am fairly convinced has spent much of their adult life in prison.  I have no real proof of this.  But, a combination of their fairly selfish and amoral approach to life as a youth and their total disappearance from public records supported this assumption.  I'm even more convinced with their sudden reappearance.  First, it was a mid-January family Christmas celebration photo posted by a sibling.  Then, it was mention made by their mother in reference to a family situation in social media.  (I might add that this person hasn't appeared in family gathering photos, including holiday gatherings prior to the current year and hasn't been mentioned by family members in their family related social media posts until now.)

This is the ex I credit with teaching me what I did not want in a partner and what I would not accept in my own life.  The great lesson I learned from this ex is that I can accept and love and support people with very different values or lifestyle choices from mine, but I don't have to sleep with them in order to prove that I'm open minded and accepting. 

And, yesterday, a sibling of this ex sent me an email.  The email extended greetings and inquired about the general state of my life from the ex. 

I responded to the sibling along the lines of the communications we've shared over the past several years . . . and I noted that I am quite satisfied with my life.  But, I sent no greetings. 

We'll see where this goes.  I'm not sure how I feel about having any relationship, even extended through another friend, with this ex.  Just too much in the past that isn't worth dredging up.

Not all bad

I'm still pretty angry with the Old Man for some of his just bizarre decisions he made during the last few years of the Old Woman's life.  I cannot be convinced that a major motivation for his thought process was anything more than pure selfishness.  And, I will always believe that his selfishness led to the very bad ending.  I can't help but think that if he'd accepted the help that was offered in many and different ways, the progression would have been slower, better controlled, and the end more comfortable.

But, all of this stewing is pretty unproductive.  He's a stubborn old coot, and it's not like we should be surprised at this point.

But, I found myself fondly recalling some of the more charming aspects of our history together to one of my students the other day.

When I was first taken into their home, braces on my teeth were one of the first corrections made to allow me a future of fitting in better.  But, I was the only "child" in the community with braces.  I became something of a novelty.  Add in a vicious, competitive mother, and it was a ripe scene.

We were in church one day, and this mother of a child in my class turned around and made some snide, vicious but coated in sweet comment to me and the Old Man.  He leaned forward, and dripping with just as much poisonous sweetness as her comment, he said "yes, I notice your child has something of an overbite too, perhaps you'd like us to give you the name of our orthodontist?"  The mother twisted her mouth, and replied "we thought about getting her braces, but we decided we didn't want her to be ugly for two years and not have a boyfriend."  (Add in insincere smile.)  The Old Man patted her elbow (which was propped on the pew back between us) and said "yes, that is important, that 12 year old have boyfriends."

Later, that summer, when my classmate was absent from church for illness, the Old Man (having heard from several sources of gossip in town, that she had caught mono from some boy she met and made out with the same day at a local park) leaned forward to the mother and said brightly "I hope ________ is feeling well enough to join us at church next week."  The mother frowned and said "she has mono, so I don't know when she'll be better."  Without missing a beat, the Old Man said, sympathetically, "if only you'd gotten her those braces."

It was a classic move and made me feel so much better about my status as local oddity.  Mean, but I needed to see someone stand up for me.