New Public Service Ad

The full bladder trick, in foot tall letters, on the sides of municipal transport buses.

Ah, the progesterone shot. I’ve seen pictures of the progesterone shot. Specifically, I’ve seen mobile phone pictures of a particular surface area of flesh, very bruised, very traumatized. I now understand this to be the “hip,” post progesterone shot. I didn’t ask to see them, but a very likely, very well meaning person took it upon himself to share this memory from his own IVF files. Certainly, needle counts are one thing. Photomontages, outtakes on the Blackberry, in the middle of an office, for goodness sakes, are something else entirely.

Which isn’t to say that I don’t understand how it happened. I get that you can go through your whole life without any GGW digital media skeletons in proverbial closets. In fact, two months ago, I found myself taking a few self-portraits to show my neurologist that a specific vein in my face does protrude during a certain kind of migraine, scary indeed, and weird enough to justify photographic evidence.

It’s raining here, which doesn’t change much. After looking at pet food ingredients for the first time ever, my husband is in revolt against the dog’s feeding regimen (ingredients: beef, beef hearts, carrots). We discussed the way in which the dog behaves toward the squirrel (aggressively) who has taken up residence outside the living room window, and how not even ghee and basmati rice will quell the dog’s aggression. No, this is just the normal state of things between dogs and squirrels, and it always has been. The dog and the cat are my husband’s first ever pets, but he grew up in the south of France, where his family slaughtered their own hogs, and where his first job was in a chicken processing plant. So I expect him to be a bit wiser in the ways of this particular world.

I am going to bake cookies because Thanksgiving and Easter are the only holidays when it is socially acceptable to whip up vast amounts of yellow frosting, and I swear that yellow frosting tastes much better than any other color, except for pale, pale, blue. My sister agrees precisely. It’s a weird sort of synesthesia. And that, I suppose, will be the extent of the excitement here today.