Wednesday, February 11, 2009

A Possible Valentine Card Replacement

When it comes to the criteria for whether or not we should end a relationship with someone, we all have standards. For example, I won’t date someone who is below 5’ tall. I know no man asks to be born 4’11” or below, but that is just one of my qualifiers. Also, if I go on a date with someone who doesn’t speak to me, that is grounds for relationship termination. It doesn’t matter if he physically can’t, or even if he’s mute, if he doesn’t even try to make pleasant conversation somehow, it’s over. I’m a real stickler, but hey, that’s just me.

Alan is even worse than I am. Whereas I would want to break up with him if he went out and tattooed his entire face and came home and didn’t say a peep to me about his day, he would break up with me if I got a tattoo -- period. Even if the tattoo was a freshly baked, piping hot pie, in honor of his last name, Pies. I don’t consider myself a huge fan of PDA, (mostly limited to the kind which involves excessive groping, tongue-y kisses and pet name calling), but I feel that a Pie tattoo would be an honorable gesture of my affection. The fact that he feels so strongly against it made me sad, but I eventually got over the scorn.

This morning I found myself waiting in a drab hallway hospital while Alan underwent another procedure. Because the young family sitting on my right didn’t speak English and the older Asian woman on my left looked inconvenienced, I decided not to make conversation with anyone and sat quietly instead. After half an hour of staring at the wall clock, I started wondering what I might say to the Asian woman next to me. She looked rather upset, and I wanted to assure her that it would be all right. But then I thought she might just be going in for a routine check up and there was no need to be worrying people unnecessarily. I pondered over the color of the walls and then the tiles, and just when I was about to start mulling over the placement of the waiting room chairs, an important thought struck me. Behind a closed door close by, a doctor was giving Alan a tattoo on the clump of bad cells within him. Now that he has a tattoo, this could be the perfect opportunity for making my case for getting one myself. I just need to decide on what kind of crust to get…

No comments:

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...