I am Forced to be Nice to Our Readers
I had originally written a different post here, but She made Me take it down, operating on the theory that only Our friends would read this thing. This is highly likely to be true. It can be said, however, that I don't write things here for you, any more than anyone else does. These things are the insane ramblings of deluded maniacs who believe that other people want to hear what they have to say. In fact, if only your close friends read what you post, then why don't you save yourself the time and just tell them in person what needs to be said.
But!
If people unknown to the author read the posts, then, why, one can feel free to say whatever one wants to them, no? After all, I either know you, or I don't. This being the case, if you know Me, you know what I am like, and if you don't, well, I do not owe you anything, including decent treatment.
That being said, because this is a joint operation, insofar as it is really about Our relationship with TWITCH, I am compelled to accede to Her wishes in this matter and remove the offending post.
More on this as things develop.
The new entry begins below, like so:
Another Ultrasound, or, Finding Out That TWITCH is Not Human Yet
Twitch at twenty weeks
Twitch at twenty weeksWe went in for an ultrasound that We anticipated being far more exciting than it was. Let me tell you how Thrilling it was (see blarg title):
We arrived promptly at the scheduled time. This was good, because it allowed us to watch many people who came in after us go right in to their appointments, while I read Latina magazine and found new and interesting ways to be bored.
Approximately 30-40 minutes later, we were ushered into the room for the ultrasound, which was to be given by Debbie. Debbie had apparently forgotten that we had met before, and proceeded to rush us through the ultrasound as though she had a vital appointment in Monaco and didn't want to miss the plane. Herself's mother was there, and so naturally the room was quite moist and soothing to the skin, because T-Rae's eyes were gushing like a firehose. This is understandable, since everyone cries with joy when they see indistict black and white blobs which are identified by the ultrasound technician with such precise terms as "good" and "not deformed." I have always felt that blobs were, by definition, deformed, but I guess I'm just an idiot for not feeling that I should weep at things that resemble Jackson Pollack's earlier, crappier work.
TWITCH is fine, of course, but My untrained eye cannot and will not tell My most excellent brain that something that resembles a crushed jellyfish is in fact a beautiful baby TWITCH, so I just took Debbie's word for it.
After this, We had a quick visit with the doctor, who asked us if we had any questions, made a few notes, and left. This was the best part, and I applaud the doctor for not wasting any of our time. I only wish that the speed with which We were rushed through had been evident during our long stay in the waiting room. Fortunately, the Dark Side teaches Us patience, so We endured (and by We I mean Me; Herself has no patience).
We then went to Peg's to eat. My dish, the Crab Cake Benedict, resembled My progeny as revealed by the ultrasound. This did not bother Me, as TWITCH will undoubtedly spend the next 50 years devouring My spirit and crushing My soul, the symbolism was pleasing, and the dish delicious.
We arrived promptly at the scheduled time. This was good, because it allowed us to watch many people who came in after us go right in to their appointments, while I read Latina magazine and found new and interesting ways to be bored.
Approximately 30-40 minutes later, we were ushered into the room for the ultrasound, which was to be given by Debbie. Debbie had apparently forgotten that we had met before, and proceeded to rush us through the ultrasound as though she had a vital appointment in Monaco and didn't want to miss the plane. Herself's mother was there, and so naturally the room was quite moist and soothing to the skin, because T-Rae's eyes were gushing like a firehose. This is understandable, since everyone cries with joy when they see indistict black and white blobs which are identified by the ultrasound technician with such precise terms as "good" and "not deformed." I have always felt that blobs were, by definition, deformed, but I guess I'm just an idiot for not feeling that I should weep at things that resemble Jackson Pollack's earlier, crappier work.
TWITCH is fine, of course, but My untrained eye cannot and will not tell My most excellent brain that something that resembles a crushed jellyfish is in fact a beautiful baby TWITCH, so I just took Debbie's word for it.
After this, We had a quick visit with the doctor, who asked us if we had any questions, made a few notes, and left. This was the best part, and I applaud the doctor for not wasting any of our time. I only wish that the speed with which We were rushed through had been evident during our long stay in the waiting room. Fortunately, the Dark Side teaches Us patience, so We endured (and by We I mean Me; Herself has no patience).
We then went to Peg's to eat. My dish, the Crab Cake Benedict, resembled My progeny as revealed by the ultrasound. This did not bother Me, as TWITCH will undoubtedly spend the next 50 years devouring My spirit and crushing My soul, the symbolism was pleasing, and the dish delicious.
1 comment:
You choose to be nice to your readers, I would suspect because your opinion of your readers is such that they cannot handle the unmitigated deranged ramblings. You're probably right, but still, one wonders if you're pleasantry is ultimately more insulting. You underestimate their ability to scroll down until they find a picture or something, should they construe your posts as "not nice"; they choose to keep reading.
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