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  • Writer's picturemaggiehsmith07

Cut the Baby in Half


I’m traveling to Illinois later this week to see my mom. Time has slipped through my hands, adding up to quite a while since I’ve last seen her. When Andrea asked what we’d do together while I was there, I replied, “Sleep in.” As it turns out, I couldn’t hang on any longer for the opportunity to sleep in and instead awoke to Andrea saying, “It’s 11 o’clock.” yesterday morning. I had tickets to the 6 PM showing of IT Chapter 2 which is a 3-hour movie so clearly, my day wasn’t going to be as productive as I’d hoped.

Last week, the threat of Friday the 13th AND a full moon were not to be ignored at work which means it was a very HR week. A week where no one wins in spite digging their heels in firmly. I felt like King Solomon, from the bible, where he has to settle a dispute between 2 women who both claim to be the mother of an infant. Solomon’s like, “Fine. I’ll cut the baby in two and you each get a half.” One woman agreed with this absurd arrangement while the other, the real mother was like, “Fuck that.” this is total paraphrase – I know the bible well enough that I know they weren’t saying “fuck that” in it although many situations called for it. Think about it? “Son – gonna crucify you to forgive the sins of the world!” Perfect occasion for that response. Anyway. The one woman responds, “Put the sword away – give the other woman the baby.” So Solomon knew that this was the real mom. In my week, people were like, “YES! CUT THE GODDAMN BABY IN HALF. DOOOOO IT!” So I did and I didn’t feel like anyone really came out ahead – but hey! They thought they did so there’s that. Winner, winner, chicken dinner.

On Friday, my team had their weekly call and our new leader was on the line. In an effort to move the call forward, I volunteered to speak first. Seemed like a good idea at the time. After everyone else spoke, I was struck how I shared the most benign, personal fact about myself. Which seemed weird because I’m fairly open. Perhaps she could just read my blog? Just kidding. Let’s extend my ruse of normalcy beyond her first week. But really – I write better than I speak. This is because I write slower than I speak and it gives me time to think.

IT Chapter 2 was good! Andrea pawned me off on the first people she could when she learned they were seeing IT. So thank you Darlene, Rachel and Kelsey! It was long, but I’m not entirely sure what could have been left on the cutting room floor. The movie made you jump and laugh – as did the audience member who softly said, “Run, bitch!” to one of the characters. Solid advice she did not heed. I loved Stephen King’s cameo as the curmudgeonly owner of a second-hand store. I checked my phone in the bathroom after the movie and discovered a text from Andrea that read, “We had a dramatic night here.” When I asked what, she replied, “Wait until you get home.” I asked if anyone needed the emergency room or a trip to the vet and she said, “I don’t think so. Therapy maybe.” I drove behind the slowest car EVER but still got home in the 12-minutes that I’d promised Andrea I would. I burst through the door and demanded, “What happened?”

“Wellllll… Georgie was lying down between the coffee table and the couch. I was carrying Bogey. Georgie suddenly stood up, tripping me, and I feel backwards – clutching Bogey and scraping the back of my heel on the coffee table.” Andrea said, showing me her bloodied heel and asking, “Did you wear a bra?”

“Yes! Why?! Do I look droopy?!”

“No – I saw your bra in a weird place.”

“Yeah – I couldn’t find it.”

“I think I saw it on the counter.”

“Sounds about right.”

This morning, I tell Andrea, “Oh hey. I know someone who’s having a garage sale in Maynard and selling stuff for a move. She’s moving to France. Want to stop by?”

“France?!” Andrea replies.

“Yeah. Why did you say it that way?” I ask.

“I thought you were going to say Maine. Or California. Or Virginia! Not France! Sure – I’ll go.”

We head upstairs to dress and I toss a bra on the bed.

“Hey! Is that the bra you wore?! That’s my bra!” Andrea says.

“Oh. Is it?” I ask, “Yeah. Well. This is why it didn’t feel broken in.”

“Broken in? What does that even mean?!” Andrea asks.

“You know. Muscle memory. The foam. In the cups. To my boobs.” Andrea just looks at me as if I’m crazy as I slide it on – not having bothered to look for my own bra but passing it on the counter on our way out to the garage sale. You know it’s been a rough week when your bra’s been tossed onto your kitchen counter.

The woman having the sale is a herbalist so I'm hoping she’s selling some books on herbalism – which is absurd. Of course, she isn’t selling those. I come home with 2 plants (a tray of succulents and a spider plant, the plant on the lowest shelf on pic to right), a frame of sorts and a banner with bees on it. The bee banner is a talisman of sorts - for that someday that keep bees and grow up like “nourishshakti” (on Instagram) – to be an herbalist. Until then, I’ll keep taking the herbalism course from the Herbal Academy. Imagine selling your stuff and moving to France? I admire her chutzpah, telling her to keep the change from my purchase. Not that it'll make a dent in her international move but because she's doing it - going for it.

For today, I should really tidy up a bit and tackle laundry so I have clothing for Illinois. The forecast calls for warm weather but it’s the time of year where you have to pack for both summer and fall.


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