I was going to write a post about the horse show I worked at yesterday. Then I came home and checked my answering machine. Here’s the message:
“Hi, Heather. I hope this is your number. This is Eli. (Uh, I don’t know anyone named Eli. Especially not a woman named Eli.) Anyway, I just wanted to congratulate you about being pregnant…”
I screamed. That’s like my worst nightmare. It was made worse by the fact that the night before I had a dream that I was pregnant. That was disturbing enough but apparently there was some confusion as to who the father was. There was this guy sweeping my kitchen who seemed to be the father. But he already had a kid about my age. I thought that that was just so tacky and such a cliche to be having an affair with a woman the same age as your kid. I was embarrassed to have had a part in it. But, he was cleaning my kitchen. I hate that job so any man willing and able to do it should not be dismissed out of hand just because he’s tacky. Then I noticed that he was black. I realized that my husband would probably notice if I had a multiracal baby. He’d probably figure out that I had had an affair. There was going to be no denying it if he did. But then I went back to being mad because the guy was old and that was a much bigger problem.
I’m a bit afraid of what is going to happen today. If someone else congratulates me on being pregnant I might just lose my tenuous grasp on sanity.