BEWARE THE UTERI
There are two kinds of women in this world. I have classified women into two categories based on my personal experiences:
A) working with the general public,
B) networking via various social outlets (i.e. PTO meetings, church, birthday parties and more) and
C) family reunions. Before you raise your hackles ladies, hear me out. The two types are easy to remember: you’re either a Uterus Woman or you’re not.
Take for example my new neighbor, whom has graced our neighborhood for less than a month. As I walked my dog the other day, New Neighbor called out to me, prompting introductions. Dog and I made polite introductions, followed by a smattering of polite conversation (which I hate). This brief banter was not good enough for New Neighbor. New Neighbor did the unthinkable. Now, pause for a moment and focus on the fact that I have known New Neighbor exactly 6.17 minutes. Around 22.03 minutes I knew the following about New Neighbor: She is divorced. She caught her old man cheating. She is remarried. She has three kids, their existence completed by a play-by-play recounting of her labor pains, the hue of her placenta, how many stitches she had in each episiotomy,which drugs she took and how great/bad they were. She likes to drink socially. She likes to smoke all the time. She hates perverts. She loves steaks. She hates cats. She has a mastiff. Her new husband had a kidney transplant. Her lawn needs cutting. She likes to watch the neighborhood out of her window. She likes to call the law whenever something looks suspicious. She noticed my motion sensor light came on at precisely 2:49 AM last Tuesday morning. She feels like justice is overrated. She hates nosy people.
I also knew that New Neighbor must be allergic to bras, which was a shame considering a 42 DD would have been appropriate in her case. New Neighbor also uses her arms a LOT when she talks – perhaps she was an orchestra conductor in a past life. New Neighbor punctuates her sentences with raised eyebrows and knowing looks. If you think I am making this up – I will give you my address. Come by. Visit my neighbor. She’s lovely. As I made my escape from New Neighbor, she was still yammering. Her voice grew louder and louder until I shut my front door. My husband looked at me. “D’you meet the new neighbors?” My glare must have clued him in.
Here is another example; I once had a coworker whom we all thought was a class act. She was well-kept and well spoken. She was educated. She had money. (By the way – none of these things will make you presentable when it comes to the personality department. Stripped down to nothing but our characters, we’re all pretty much on our own. Like they say, you can take the girl out of the trailer park, but you can’t take the trailer park out of the girl.) Picture all of us ladies, working on a big event planning project at a fancy winery and accomplishing our tasks with a sense of cooperative harmony. Enter Classy Coworker. We all welcome her into the fold. She begins her work. Suddenly, Classy Coworker poses a question to the room. We are rapt listeners. What does she say? She asks us to look at a rash and diagnose it for her. Already a few of us are getting uncomfortable. One or two kind ladies urge her to continue, their best intentions at heart. Classy Coworker hoists up her Donna Karen skirt and displays said rash. Copious amounts of fidgeting have ensued and many of us are hurting ourselves as we search for an object at which to stare. Classy Coworker sees discomfort and laughs, telling us she doesn’t have one single thing we haven’t seen before. I beg to differ: a rash would be quite different! Classy Coworker demands Nearest Lady to stare at rash, hoping to identify the problem. I have already identified the problem: she fooled us. It’s another Uterus Woman. All agree too quickly that a doctor should be seen, and that Classy Coworker might want to choose something besides the flesh-colored thong she is wearing when she does see her doctor. I ask you one question: WHY on God’s green earth would ANY woman do that to coworkers?! Tell your doctor, tell your Momma, tell your spouse, but otherwise keep it to yourself!
Two words: Uterus Woman. Ladies, a Uterus Woman can be defined as any woman who is willing, no – eager, no – desperate to tell a complete stranger her life’s story within the first twenty minutes of your introduction. Put your money on the table, because if she’s good, you will hear about her uterus, her stretch marks, her anything having to do with the female reproductive system during this allotted time. Not only will she inundate you with gory details about her inability to wear thongs due to her latest C-section scar, but she will truly believe that you are:
A) interested in this knowledge and
B) are a better person for hearing it.
Strangers and their uncontrollable desire to verbally vomit their private lives into your tender ears are a nightmare. My advice: one can easily fake a distraction or even an illness in order to escape these crazed individuals. If need be, run as fast as you c Continue reading