Take my hand, come back in time with me, and let me set this up for you:
Scene: Snarkier Than You, nekkid from the waist down save for a scrap of tissue on a string that supposedly passes for "disposable underwear," is bracing herself for her first-ever Brazillian wax. Mentally and physically. Aside from what I was certain would be a decent amount of real-life "JMFHFOMFGTHATFUCKINGHUUUUURTS!!!"-Defcon 5-level real owwie-ness, I'm steeling myself for my first real face-to-cooter meet-up with an aesthetician. I am, in short, nervous as a cat in a roomful of rockers on all counts.
The woman who owns the salon - Zuzanna - is older and of Eastern European descent. She clearly knows her way around a hoo-hoo, and her no-nonsense, professional, "I've seen all this a million times"-style puts me as much at ease as one can be in this type of a situation. I'm laying back, legs splayed, and she prepares to get down to business on my business. And then she says it - the words that haunt me to this day; the ones that put me in a tizzy after I recovered from the blow-torch-like after-burn of the waxing itself -
So, do you have any children???
I should make it absolutely, positively, 100% clear that at the time this seemingly-innocuous and possibly-at-any-other-time benign inquiry was uttered, Zuzanna's face was approximately three inches away from my crotch, and she probably had a clear line of vision directly into my uterus (she could probably see clear up to my tonsils, for goodness sakes). Given that, it seemed - to me - like a wildly inappropriate time to ask if I had ever squeezed anything the size of several bowling balls strung together - or, let's say a watermelon - out of that particular orifice. It added insult to injury - to say nothing of the fact that she was about to commence using hot wax to rip out hundreds of hairs from the most delicate area imaginable - that when I said "No," a look of concern - regret? - and then perhaps pity for posing this question to the clearly barren woman who obviously has to get her privates polished to make up for the fact that she will never bear offspring.
I guess it's my fault for not having this Get-Out-of-Awkwardness-Free Card tucked away somewhere in the back of my little paper g-string...
I am at an age where if I had wanted kids, I would have probably had them by now. As I explained to Sister Snarky back when she razzed me over it, our blog blurb that says "We're a bunch of over-thirty chicks who never meant to fall in love with Twilight" IS accurate! Over 40 IS still over thirty; and besides, I was 39 when we started this crazy blog. So there. You do the math. Anyhoo, I've noticed that people aren't sure what to make of it when they attempt to make small talk by asking about my theoretical children only to find that I don't have any.
Let me state definitively that small-talk-wise, regardless of whether the person doing the asking has intimate, up-close knowledge of your nether-region parts that you will only ever see for yourself in a mirror or not, this is a loaded gun of a subject. I don't know if maybe Zuzanna was absent the day at school where they taught every other person who has ever cut my hair, given me a pedicure, or cleaned my teeth to say "So, do you have any vacation plans coming up?" (unless it is anywhere near Christmas, in which case "So, are you ready for the holidays?" may be used interchangeably), or maybe they just don't teach that at whatever no-nonsense Soviet-era beauty-school gulag where she learned her trade. I'd also like to note for the record that you can hold the small talk - period! - all I really want to do at times like these is read a magazine, listen to my ipod, or dig my fingernails into my palms and wait for whatever it is you are doing to be over, thank you very much. No offense.
But if you are thisclose to my girly bits and ask me if I have kids? Instant complex. I mean, what the fuck?! Why would you say such a thing?! Does it look like the Holland Tunnel down there??? Was she making small talk only to see if there would be an echo?! I happen to know that my bits and pieces are in mighty fine shape and none of that could possibly be the case, but I still have the urge to go back and ask her what exactly she was thinking when she asked me that... And when I said "no."
Yup, I'm going to get on that... Right after I do my Kegels.
P.S. As proof that Robert Pattinson is EVERYWHERE and Twilight continues to take over the universe, I found the pic below on the second page of my google-image search for a funny Kegels image. I don't even want to know.