Same Old . . .

The husband is currently working on a screenplay - a ridiculous comedy (I say ridiculous in the best possible way). Without giving too much away, it opens with a man and his lady friend. A charming young lady. She is absent minded and ditzy, with melon sized breasts. We learn that she has finally gotten the opportunity to star in an engaging, intellectually stimulating movie (porn) and is leaving our hero. She wipes her tears on her enormous breasts and our hero is left in a state of loneliness and despair. It actually is quite funny. However, I do find it somewhat troubling that my husband is writing about female characters who are dumb as rocks with absurdly exaggerated bodies who pine to be in porn. Should I be worried?

There has not been much exciting to report over here. Had a lovely weekend. Dinner with pregnant friend on Friday. Fiancé is nice, Irish and laughs at all her jokes. Felt quite pleased with myself as I handed over gifts of onesies and tiny socks. I’m your local recurrent miscarrier! And yet, I can rise above it and give gifts! Then movie with other friends on Saturday. Coffee afterwards. Discussions of never telling their future yet unborn kids (or presumably, conceived, but one never knows these days) of Santa Clause or the Easter Bunny or Tooth Fairy because they are all lies! Lies! I was somewhat befuddled by this and tried, albeit lamely, to defend the whole santatoothfairyeasterbunny thing because, as a child, I found it, well, fun! And charming! And thrilling! But I managed to feel bemused by the entire conversation. I kept saying,“But it’s about IMAGINATION!” I wasn’t really getting anywhere. Then we went to see a Broadway musical - a show that basically reenacts a bizarre, wonderful, unnerving, plotless documentary of the 1970s. I enjoyed it immensely. Oh, and yes, there is the whole trying to get pregnant thing. I guess we’re going for it–although at times I feel like I am hanging onto the banister with all my might while being pulled down the stairs, screaming and crying that I can’t–it’ll just end badly! Besides, I’m too fat! I have too much work to do! We don’t even have a two bedroom apartment! But alas, the bottom line is that I really do want to try - even though I am scared half to death.