Last night Mike took me to Benihana because I am a big fan of food that involves special production. The hostess told us that we would have to wait about six minutes for a table to open up. When it was close to the six minute mark, I started rubbing my round globe of a belly and put on my best pained “Feed me and my unborn baby” face. It didn’t work. We were seated at a round kidney-shaped table with a metal grill. Also seated were two Asian women with their respective children. Mike told me that the downside of Benihana was sitting with people you don’t know, but I didn’t mind. I surveyed the boys and tried to figure out what my son will look like.


About a week or so ago, a classmate who’s writing a story about a young pregnant woman interviewed me. I told him about my great fear that my son will grow up to be a tool and it will be my fault. How many tools have you met and wondered what their mothers did to them that caused such toolness? On Saipan, I had a boyfriend who addressed his mother by her first name, never “mother” or “mom”. He was also a pathological liar who cared more about Magic the Gathering than getting a real job. I also had a racist boyfriend who only spoke to his mother a few times a year. When I met his mom, she showed me a statuette of a little black girl and said, “Don’t you love my niglet?” Are these just coincidences?


At dinner one of the boys said, “Thanks Mom.”

I told Mike, “Won’t it be great when Nathan says ‘Thank You’?”

Mike smiled and said, “Won’t it be great when Nathan’s mom learns how to say ‘please’?”

I guess it’s been a while.

And for your random internet activity: Things Other People Accomplished When They Were Your Age

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  1. Interesting.

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