Day 273
Comments (0) Saturday 24th July 2010
One year ago.
“My boobs are really sore at the moment,” Suse says, turning to me.
“Really?” I say. She pushes them with her hands, to confirm.
“Yeah. Really sore.”
Half an hour later, she calls from the bathroom.
“I’ve been getting these little pimples on my nose.”
I walk around the corner to look.
“Where?”
“Just here.”
I look at the non-descript lumps, barely visible on the nare of her nose. “I never get pimples there. And now I’ve got an outbreak.”
“Well, there you go,” I say taking her into a hug.
I have no interest in my wife’s pimples. I have a lot of interest in her breasts, I’ll admit that. But I have no interest in her pimples.
But this isn’t about pimples. Or breasts. This is about something all together.
But neither of us is willing to say it out loud.
So instead, we imagine.
We know there will be a pregnancy test in a few days.
And for the moment, we just imagine.
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Themocracy