#bébé you are a good egg
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The Scientific Method Turning Thirty: Chapter One - Part Three of Three, by @henriettasyarn
According to the internet, there are generally seven steps to the scientific method: 1. Discern the burning question, 2. Research said question, 3. Determine a hypothesis to answer said question, 4. Test your hypothesis, 5. Analyze the results, 6. Form your conclusion, and 7. Communication. In 2008, when I was in ninth grade, I distinctly remember there only being five steps. The research in step two came before the method. This implication promoted unhealthy perfectionism for those of us who struggled with executive dysfunction. Your burning question has to be perfectly tailored before you can even start your method. There’s no room for change after you begin; you must know exactly what you want to discover in your project before it even begins. Of course, this isn’t true, nor has it ever been true; it's just the story I told myself. Regardless of the order or number of steps in the scientific method, for a 14 year-old girl with undiagnosed ADHD, my story was the gospel truth.
I recently read a book called “There Are No Grown-Ups,” by Pamela Druckerman. I came across her work after reading her debut title, “Bringing Up Bébé,” during my second round of motherhood hyper-fixation. I love her writing style. It’s research based, yet forgiving. It’s personal, yet experimental with serious topics cloaked in everyday humor. Druckerman’s work is methodical and I could relate, even as a decade off from the targeted audience. Upon completion, I immediately started looking for similar titles made specifically for thirty-somethings. I was left wanting. According to the numerous podcasts and self-help titles for our demographic, we are unsatisfied, paralyzed with anxiety and need constant uplifting, radically optimistic, reminders that our lives are not coming to an end. The cyclical theme of thirty-something literature and media is, “you’ve got plenty of time!” God forbid a newly ordained thirty year old expresses any sort of regret over their current accomplishments in front of a forty-plus-er. Scoffing will undoubtedly ensue.
The world of thirty-something-coming-of-age-not-so-midlife advice is frustrating and dishonest, to put it simply. I listened to a podcast this past week that was formed as a new kind of community for thirty-something girlies. It’s mission statement is, “to help those in their late twenties and thirties break free from what society says turning 30 should look like, accept where they are and to feel empowered to take positive steps forward at this pivotal time.” It sounds good, right? It sounds real, I think. The album cover is a picture of the host, a cute, tanned blondie, who just heard the most hilarious joke of her life, standing in front of a rustic, wood paneled wall. She is doing great and I’m happy for her, so please don’t misconstrue my criticism as fellow female bashing. This woman speaks with confidence and poise. She is helping many women overcome the struggle and doom of thirty-hood and she is very clearly a boss-bitch. I started with the most recent episode and turned it off after twenty minutes. It was the same fucking bullshit I hear all of the time; Nikki was so sad because she was single and didn’t think she would be able to fulfill her lifelong dream of becoming a mother. Finally, after a maximum of eighteen months of desolation, Nikki takes control of her life by freezing her eggs and traveling to Bali to rediscover herself. However, within two years from the lowest point in Nikki’s life, she is married and has a baby. Wow! You never know what’s around the corner! So, girls, don’t get discouraged, prince charming will be waiting for you after you finally make the decision to be a strong, independent woman.
What a load of horse shit. Nikki has a story to tell, but this is not the one that I need to hear, this is vomit inducing. I want to hear how she maintained, or did not maintain, her independence after meeting her new spouse. I want to know why she immediately jumped in to having a baby as soon as she met this guy. After all, what was the rush? She just froze her eggs and got out of a very serious, long-term relationship that caused her to hit rock-bottom, so was that just erased from her consciousness the moment she met a guy willing and able to impregnate her? Was it an accidental pregnancy? And if it was….was it really?? My assumption is that she never really became a strong independent woman, content with the possibility of intentional single motherhood. I think she was coping with her sadness over unfulfilled expectations, and independence was the only way through. She was let down and grieving a life she thought she had — a life she still wanted and never truly moved on from. That’s the story I want to hear. I want to hear about Nikki’s reconciliation journey and about the intense relief she felt when she met her now husband. I don’t want to hear the, “you never know what’s around the corner, keep that chin up, girl!” story. It’s exhausting and photoshopped.
My sister-in-law, Janelle, got divorced in 2020. In 2018, her first husband, John, underwent major weight-loss after learning of his status as a type-2 diabetic at the ripe age of twenty-nine. It was a wake-up call for him. He started exercising and eating healthy. For reference, John was nearly 400 lbs when he started turning his life around. By the time they divorced, John was closer to 200 lbs and had a new-found confidence that none of us had ever seen. I’ve never heard the story directly from John, but, allegedly, he met, and started a relationship with a girl from his hometown in Pennsylvania while playing online video games. In 2019, instead of spending Christmas with his wife, John lied and said he needed to go home to his family, when in reality, he was visiting the gamer girl. John came home to divorce papers. Several months after the divorce was finalized, as Janelle was becoming a strong independent woman and ignoring her deep, clinical depression, Sprinkles shared some encouraging words. She said, “Janelle, you never know what could happen. This time next year you could be remarried and pregnant, don’t get discouraged.” And guess what? By that time the following year, Janelle was pregnant and engaged. It was a miracle. Thank God she didn’t have to enter her thirties as a childless spinster, oh the horror.
This is the story she tells; she shares the story of her miracle soul-mate and surprise baby boy. Is she happy, though? I don’t know, I can’t tell. Did she overcome the inner-demons and personality faults she discovered during her divorce that drove her into a deep depression? If she did, is that the reason she had the clarity to know that her new husband was the right man for her? Or, like Nikki, was she overcome with relief the moment she met someone that was able and ready to impregnate her and get her life back on the right track? Neither story is inherently wrong. Somewhere, in the depths of the life-stories we tell ourselves and others, is the truth. I am not interested in waiting until I’m forty to be comfortable with the truth.
In her “Midlife Coming of Age Story,” Druckerman wraps each chapter with a Jeff Foxworthy-esque social commentary, predicating to aptly coined phrase: “You know you’re in your forties when…”. Some traits and tidbits are practical, like “You know you’re in your forties when…hardly anyone you meet is twice your age,” or “the only songs you know all the words to are at least twenty years old.” While others are full of wisdom, only learned through lived experience, like: “You know you’re in your forties when…you are capable of listening without judgment,” or “when you recount how someone has wronged you, you now add, this is from my perspective, of course,” and, “You no longer accept one sided accounts of relationship agonies or obediently validate friends’ stories.” The most poignant in my life, however, is: “You know you’re in your forties when you stop blaming your parents for all of your problems.” The commonality between these trivial and profound realizations is knowledge of self. It’s general awareness. There is truth in the story. I don’t want a decades’ long bandage that constantly reminds me to wait for what’s just around the corner. I want awareness and peace. I want harmony and joy. I want to find my unapologetic self now.
#chapteroneparthree#henriettasyarn#author#female writers#writers on tumblr#writers and poets#writerscommunity#evangelism#divorce#turningthirty#thirty#pentecostal#episcopalian#toxic christianity#original post#original work#original story
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These may be the poor chic girl’s best friend. The cigarettes kill the too-poor-for-groceries (because you had that martini last night) hunger pangs, and the credit pays for the food that you may ultimately give in and buy just to keep you standing. Or that NARS lipstick you just need to cover up the fact that your lips are purple from an unheated (can’t waste money on utilities) bachelor apartment, or the insufficient outerwear you’re currently donning as a result of ebay desperation (more on this later). Beware, poor little chic girl, the cigarette/credit cycle is a vicious one — eventually you run out of that cigarette money you’ve saved in your bank account, and the credit begins to pay for that too. Before you know it you’re mentally crossing your chilly little fingers every time you use that powerful piece of plastic.
Don’t fear though, this cycle can be broken, and no, you won’t need to quit smoking to do so, those little sticks are far too chic to give up, and they just look so good with the all-black ensemble you’re wearing in a pathetic attempt to warm up! It’s simple, really, all you have to do is flex the strongest muscle a chic girl has — her willpower. Your self-control is stronger than the iron curtain when offered some high-carb, caloric treat (chic girls only indulge at LaDurée, a macaron only has 60 calories you know) yet it just crumbles when handed money. Seriously, just cut that little demon in half, hide it away, pretend it’s a Big Mac for chrissake and don’t touch it. Mine lives inside of my copy of The Great Gatsby (so appropriate right?) and it won’t rear it’s ugly head until its balance is a big, empty zero or the heinous shade of green it is comes back in style. We all know what will happen first.
Yes, this may be easier said than done but the true poor chic girl should know that she’s more self-controlled than a Tibetan Monk, and that her credit card really won’t match her outfit anyway. Unless it’s an Amex Black card, then it’s the most beautiful piece of fake money ever seen and she’s not really a poor chic girl so she can just get out of here now. Since Fitzgerald took my Visa into his custody I’m on track to have it paid off by the end of this month, I don’t need that Big Mac, I don’t do hamburgers. So come on, poor chic girl, join me in layering all of the sweaters in my closet, throwing on a pair of leather leggings (you know you have one), and stepping out onto the pavement without your credit card and engulfed in a cloud of Marlboro chicness.
Side note: I’ve compiled a bit of a list of the cheapest way to keep up a reputation (shopping at Whole Foods), but still staying nourished and alive.
– Whole Foods store brand english muffins for $2.99
– 2/$4 avocados, sometimes even 3/$5.
– frozen edamame beans for $3.00 (just half a cup in the shells is enough for you, barely any of the package, and super filling)
– grind-your-own peanut butter at $0.89/100g. 100g lasts forever!
– baby yoghurt (I like liberté bébé because what a cute name and pretty lilac packaging) is better than normal yoghurt and baby products don’t have sales tax!
– anything from their store brand is actually really good and not too expensive! I live for english muffins (obvi), don’t really eat any processed garbage.
– buy mushrooms and other typically prepackaged vegetables and fruits individually, it works out much less and you won’t have unnecessary mushrooms left in your fridge to rot.
– egg whites are significantly cheaper than a carton of eggs, and really who eats yolk anymore unless it’s in eggs florentine?
My typical shopping trip for two weeks usually costs about $20 and consists of two avocados, a tomato, english muffins, yoghurt, egg whites, a vegetable of my choice, and a grapefruit. (Keep in mind I have a fully stocked pantry and selection of rices/pastas/soups/salmon filets already from my mum’s last trip to costco with my credit card months ago to add into these ingredients). I plan my meals vigorously and never stray from my plan, unless it means trading Tuesday’s lunch with Thursday’s dinner
So tell me, how have you optimised your grocery trips for price? Your favourite supermarket deals? How have you stopped the credit abuse? Is this post lacking topic too much? (but actually though what am I saying here)
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Firstly: let’s all take a moment to appreciate how happy Callie looks in this first photo. I think she’s smiling?
Now that that’s out of the way, an update on the humans in my house. We have had a SUPER relaxing New Years weekend. Relaxing, or lazy, whatever you wanna call it. We’ve been cooking and eating lots (hello, bacon egg and cheese breakfast & five guys burgers). B is turning a new leaf tomorrow, however, and is dedicating himself to focus on health and weight loss. Ultimately both of us need to drop some weight, and I’m excited to join him after bébé is born and I recover.
I finished two more pieces for the ol’ etsy shop - a chunky cowl and a striped scarf. The shop really hasn’t been getting much action at all, but I also haven’t been actively advertising it anywhere, because I wanna wait til I have more listings for people to actually look at. I seem to be plowing through these projects, so I’m sure it won’t be long.
Oh, and our wine jail has now been repurposed into a yarn jail. Seeing as we haven’t been buying or drinking wine lately, I thought it would be good to use it for something at least. 😆
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Lams- Holiday AU
Ship(s): Lams/ft Mullette
Characters: Alexander Hamilton, John Laurens, Marquis de Lafayette, Hercules Mulligan, George Washington
"What the actual FUCK, Lafayette?" I cringe. I turn towards Hercs voice from the doorway.
"Oui, Herc?" I smile and try not to laugh.
"Are you crazy?!" I finally laugh. He glares at my direction not looking pleased at all. He sat in an awkward position on the floor, raw eggs all over him.
"I was going to use these you blundering idiot, I guess you won't have any eggnog." I stopped laughing as he crossed his arms.
"No. You wouldn't." I crouch down near him and he grabs me and rubs the eggs all over my face.
"Herc! Arrêtez! Stop! Fu-" I hear the door slam.
"Lafayette? Hercules? What-" George walks into my vision. He shakes his head.
"Uh do I want to know?" I glance up through the eggs.
"No." I stand up and help Hercules up. I hear nearby screaming. Must be Alexander.
"Well Alex is here." I laugh and drag Herc to the kitchen sink. I point to the counter and he sits. I grab a towel and wipe it off my face. Pouting her looked the other way.
"Stop being a bébé." I roll my eyes, and wipe his face off. He smiles and intertwines our fingers. I smile and sit next to him. Now all we had to do is wait for Alexander and John to get here.
"What's up BITCHES." Alex walked in with presents in one hand and John's hand in the other. I smile.
"I am not a bitch, Alexander." George raises an eyebrow at Hercules.
"You're definitely Lafayette's bitch." He glares, then smirks, opening his mouth I cover it.
"Today will be a good day, Herc." I look at his face. He rolls his eyes and nods.
"He's Martha's bitch." Herc mutters. I elbow him.
"Shut up." I laugh. George rolls his eyes and grabs some of the presents from Alex. They walk to the livingroom
"Hey wait there's-"
"SHIT! WHAT THE HECK LAF? HERC? WHAT IS ON THIS DAMN FLOOR?" John laughs at Alexander on the floor.
"Hahaha, really funny John, you want this? I could arrange that." John shakes his head and turns around clapping his hands together I sit next to Hercules and George on the couch.
"Time for presents!" John had a large smile on his face. Alec smiles and nods.
"We got you guys some good stuff!" Alex throws a package at me. Herc grabs it and tried it back. I frown.
"that was for me Herc."
"Sorry Laf but I had to hit him back. Now, Alexander is that how we give gifts?" Herc puts his arm around me and stares at Alex.
"Yes, bitch." He girls it at Hercs face.
"OKAY, you want to go Alex, I will-" I grab his arm and drag him back down onto the ouch and cover his mouth.
"Arrêtez, Herc. C'est un idiot, asseyez-vous." Her rolls his eyes.
"Fine." Alexander frowns.
"I can speak french Lafayette." I smirk.
"I know." Herc laughs.
"Whatever, anyway, George." He smiles and hands him something. George rips the wrapping in record time and screams. Alex stares with his mouth open.
"Shut your mouth Son, you'll catch flies." Says George.
"And last one, for John, my love, here is your present." John looked pleased with himself. Hugging Alexander his kisses his cheek.
"Thank you!" Hercules frowns.
"Hey... what about my present?" Alex smiles and tosses it to him. Herc smiles and rips it open faster than George did.
"is that how fast you rip Lafayette's clothes off?" Alex teases. I blush.
"Pas tout à fait, c'est beaucoup plus rapide." I say, smirking. Alex spews his drink. John laughs and Hercules elbows me.
"you're not supposed to say!" Herc looks at me. Alex frowns.
"That's disgusting Lafayette. I hate knowing french!" Alex flails his arms around.
"Alright, what did he say?" George frowns confused. Americans.
"He said, 'Not quite, it's much faster.' George." John explains. George makes a face at me.
"Laf...no." I smile.
"Whatever let's finish giving presents, my turn!" I leave the room and grab everyone's presents that I carelessly shoves under the bed yesterday because Herc walked in when I was doing his.
"Here, Alexander, for you and John."
"One package?" I smirk.
"yes, but open it later." I wink. John blushes and looks at Alex.
"O-Okay." Alex puts it next to him. George coughs loudly.
"For you George, you'll love it!" I hand him an envelope.
"I swear, Lafayette if this is what I think it is." He opens it and pulls out the one dollar bill.
"ITS MONEY WITH YOUR FACE ON IT." I scream excitedly. Alex and John cough and Herc shuffles awkwardly.
"DID EVERYONE GET ME A DOLLAR BILL?!" Alexander laughs.
"Nooo." He tucks something into John's hand and whispers something into his ear. John gets up and leaves. George rolls his eyes.
"Wow, Lafayette, thank you. I appriciate it. Really." He smiles. I nod. I didn't realize everyone wanted to get him a dollar bill. Herc hands him another envelope.
"Is this another dollar bill?" He shakes his head and makes a face, struggling not to laugh.
"It's even better."
"it's a...ten dollar bill?" George frowns.
"THE GENERAL AND HIS RIGHG HAND MAN!" Hercules laughs so hard and Alexander makes a face at me.
"I cant begin to describe how FUCKING AMAZING THAT JOKE WAS. YES." Alexander begins to laugh just as hard. I smile. Hercules bows.
"Hercules, come here." George stands and summons him. He bites his lip and walks over. George snorts.
"Thank you. I just HAVE to tell Martha. She'll love it." He smiles and hugs him. John walks in with a ten. Alex stops him.
"Stop the joke was made by Hercules. Sorry John." John frowns.
"I'll still take the ten though. I'll have two right hand men." John sharks his hand.
"No you need something, AMAZING." John yells.
"Okay." George sits down and pulls out his presents. Handing me a small box.
"it's what you needed me to get. I'll get the bills later." I nod with a smile. He hands Hercules a board.
"What? What is this for?" George smiles.
"Put it against the wall." Herc does as told.
"Stand against it." Herc makes a face and nods.
"Okay, so what now?"
"Lafayette." I smile shyly. I walk up to Hercules and he makes a face.
"What is it?" I turn to George. He nods. I take a deep breathe. I hand him an envelope.
"A bill?" I shake my head.
"It's a note."
"Duh. Read it." I know he was a slow reader so I made it a bit long. He reads it muttering the words to himself. I smile and get down on one knee.
"Thank you- Laf?" He looks down and gasp.
"Herc?" I smile and grab his hand.
"Yes." I laugh.
"Let me finish! God." He nods.
"Hercules Mulligan, Depuis le début, je savais que j'étais censé être avec toi. Vous rendez ma vie complète, et je suis le plus heureux quand je suis avec vous. Alors, Hercules Mulligan, seras-tu l'homme qui me soutient et deviens celui que je veux et dont j'ai besoin pour le reste de nos vies? Veux-tu, mon amour, m'épouser?" Hercules smiles so wide I thought his face would slip open.
"So?" I smile. I open the little box and show him the ring. I picked out a double ring for both of us. It was two intertwined silver rings and a small design around the band. One for each of us. We were intertwined, inseparable, one. He nods.
"Yes, yes, oh my god yes!" He picks me up and twirls me around kissing me. I laugh. I slide the ring on his finger. I hear clapping from behind me. I grab Hercules hand and look across the livingroom at the others. I saw Martha was there.
"Why didn't you propose to me like THAT, George!" She laughs and playfully hits him. He shrugged.
"Because someone wanted to rush me." He laughs and kisses her. John smiles.
"I'm happy for both of you. This is the best Christmas EVER! Let me see the rings!" He smiles and jumps, making his way over I glance at Alexander. He was leaning against the frame of the doorway staring at John with a smile on his face. I look over at John fangirling over Herc's ring. I walk over to Alex.
"Why don't you propose to John?" I whisper. He looks at me for a while, and looks back at John.
"I'm not sure. It never feels like the right moment. I want it to be perfect. You know?" He smiled as John points at the ring calling George over. I nod.
"Well if you don't do it soon, Monsieur Laurens will think you don't want to be with him." Alex looks at me.
"I do want to be with him. It just never seems right."
"It's always right Monsieur Hamilton. Make the moment perfect, don't wait for the perfect moment. Go for it if you really want him." He nods and smiles.
"I have the perfect plan." I smile.
"Good." He smiles,"Do it soon."
"Oh I will." He walks over to John and grabs his hand and Twila him kissing him on the lips, Hercules makes his way over to me, I see as George and Martha watch carefully, leaning into each other. Herc grabs me and pulls me back into the livingroom. Dancing with me he leans into my ear.
"You know what?" I hum in response
"I love you." I smile.
"I love you too." He laughs as we dance the night away.
@sockmonkey72
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Just another clean-out-the-fridge salad for dinner tonight this one uses a baby… Just another clean-out-the-fridge salad for dinner tonight 🥗🥗 this one uses a bébé spring mix for the derrière, cucumber, strawberries (bicause I’m obsessed), a hard-boiled egg for protein, 1/2 an avocado for healthy fats + fiber, a sprinkle of pecans, goat cheese, fresh mint + parsley, and a basic homemade balsamic ravigote for dressing. What is it embout these throw-together meals that taste so good 🙈?! Wishing you all a lovely evening💚
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Thriving in The Orient
FICTION
Ever since their fall from grace into middle class, Mum’s temper had quickened and the tallies marking her lips had grown to outnumber the ones around her eyes. Wilhelmina had suggested some creams, but Mum was in denial.
“Ladies and Gentleman, welcome to Hong Kong,” says a man with a funny accent. “It is a safety requirement that you remain seated yada yada yada. Yada yada yada, on behalf of Captain Darryl and my team, thank you for flying Cathay Pacific and enjoy your stay in Hong Kong. Goodbye!”
Wilhelmina, or Willa as her friends back in Grimsby call her, has butterflies. As in she has literally hidden a jar of dead butterflies, cleverly wrapped in a scarf, in her bag. What if they stop her at customs?
She’ll probably breeze through. They eat turtles and frogs here for crying out loud.
Plus, she is wearing her rose quartz choker. Willa chants a long ooommmmm in her head and shivers as it reverberates through every chakra of her body. She smiles and bows to the flight attendant, who smiles back at her wearily. It had been a long flight.
* * *
Two months into her new position teaching English at a Youth College for disadvantaged youths in the New Territories and Willa is ready to hop on a plane to Bali. Or Laos. Or Vietnam. She has been dreaming of Angkor Wat since her best mate back home Constance Jane returned from her Asia trip eyes wide skin red and peeling like an apple under hot water. She’d told Willa about a tiger-breeding monk who had taken her under his wing for a day and opened her third eye during a short ceremony she couldn’t clearly recall.
The week after, Willa’s ex-boyfriend Colin, who graduated the year before with a 2:2 in English Literature, same as Willa, got back from his teaching job slash gap year in Hong Kong.
When he asked her out for coffee, she knew it was an omen. A symbol from the Creator that she should explore her options in Asia. Career-wise. The guys there were a bit on the short side for her liking, but her good friend Laura had written in her weekly newsletter that her Chinese boyfriend worshipped her like some kind of goddess, and especially loved her hair, which was blonde. She’d made a pact with herself after she and Colin’s mutual break up over Skype, anyway.
Willa thinks about asking Margaux, one of the other female NET teachers, about travelling together at the next Bank Holiday weekend. Margaux is French and has Rosemary’s Baby hair. At lunchtime, Willa goes downstairs to ask the quiet receptionist girl, whose name is either Vicky, Kathy or Fanny, where Margaux’s classroom is.
“Upstairs the second floor, Room 15,” says Vicky or Kathy or Fanny.
“Thanks,” says Willa, and dutifully inclines her head.
“Margieee hiyaaaa!!! Want to grab a dim sum after work?” she asks, swinging from the doorway, a bit like Pocahontas from a tree.
Margaux whirls around. She’s wearing fluorescent orange eyeshadow today.
“Mais yes, sounds délicieux—but s’il vous plait never call me with that name again uh?” she rasps with a sophisticated wrinkle of the nose.
Willa’s cheeks itch and Margaux turns back to her monitor.
She was only trying to be friendly.
“Brilliant!!! Meet you there at six, Margaux!!!” she warbles and turning to leave, almost trips over a small child. Quiet as ghosts, these children. Like their parents are training them up as ninjas or something. Even more disturbing is when there’s thirty of them staring vacantly at the whiteboard after being asked a seemingly obvious question, like how to conjugate a verb to match plural nouns.
She is dreading next class. Maybe, if she’s lucky, the ring leader will have caught that nasty stomach bug that’s been going around. Maybe the back row girl gang won’t threaten her life today.
She had taken this job at the Youth College, despite it being farther out, because four days into her initial job at St. Margaret Teresa Catherine’s Royal Kindergarten, she'd realised she hated young children, actually, because they were annoying little cunts who snotted everywhere and never listened no matter how many times she shouted for them to sit down.
The older the better, she had mistakenly thought, but it seems Asian kids only have two settings. Dead loud or dead silent.
As soon as her last student fucks off out the door, Willa packs her bag, checks her lipstick and virtually flees the school. Today is one of those days she questions her very impulsive decision to move thousands of miles away from the comforts of home to a foreign country where barely anyone knows any English. Did these people learn nothing from the Brits?
* * *
There’s no queue outside Dim Sum Palace, which is not its real name, but it sounds good on her blog and the name stuck. It’s usually quiet at this time, which is confusing, because don’t Chinese people eat dinner too? She approaches the pinch-faced hostess and holds up two fingers. Leng gow, she mouths, meaning two people in Chinese. The hostess looks bemused and smiles at her as a mama bear would smile at a sweet little rabbit in the woods.
Twenty-two minutes late, Margaux shows up with Nina. And Marty. Of course.
Margaux undulates into one of the chairs at the next table, Nina and Marty either side of her. Seeing the p-d off look on Willa’s face, Margaux grins.
“Willa cherie don’t look so angry uh? The more the merrier non?”
She crooks her finger and Willa comes to sit.
They order the usual ha gow (shrimp dumplings), sew moy (pork dumplings), cha sow bow (roast pork buns), low pak gow (fried turnip cake). Marty insists on steamed chickens feet because he wants to “expand his horizons.”
“Your wife not doing it for you lately?” Willa asks.
“Well as you know Willa my wife just gave birth hey and look I hope this won’t put off your appetite guys but as you know guys I don’t do well with all this lady stuff right and when I come back in the room after her you know Scisserion right you know where they snip the belly open right because what with me being a Westerner and all the baby would’ve got stuck or something so they handed me the baby and I said guys I said no right I mean come on that thing came out of my wife’s……like it was covered in blood and piss and shit before they wiped it I mean what were they expecting me to do here right?”
Nina frowns at her tea.
“But Marty you are le papa de bébé non? Why don’t you want to ‘old ‘er?” Margaux asks.
Before he can spring to self-defend, steaming baskets of pungent dim sum appear on the lazy susan. Everyone deploys their chopsticks as best they can and the wait staff try not to laugh.
* * *
An hour later, Willa is home and scanning the fridge. She’s still hungry from dinner because actually, she finds Chinese food abhorrently bad, and Marty’s story about his wife’s placenta or whatever really did put her off her appetite. But she wants point 28 on her “Things You Should Know About China Before You Move” list to sound authentic. Readers can intuit lies, so she always does the things she writes about so she can’t be called out.
She settles on the Quinoa Egg and Baby Spinach Protein Boost Pot she bought from M&S last week. Definitely worth the $30 it cost for the thirty minute cab ride home.
“Willababes is that you? Could you grab a beer for me while you’re at it please?” shouts Colin from the living room.
Willa reaches for the last Kronenbourg. Behind it is a small velvet box. The kind they keep rings in. She drops the can and it explodes across the kitchen.
“Nevermind that, love. We’ll get the cleaner to mop it up tomorrow,” says Colin from behind her.
He’s down on one knee.
Willa squeals and throws herself onto him, knocking him over onto the wet floor. They lie kissing in the beer puddle until the doorbell chimes off-key Für Elise.
“Don’t you want to get that, babes?” asks Colin, nuzzling the bindi on her forehead.
Willa can hear giggling behind the door. She gets up to answer it, thankful that the Chinese prefer tiles to carpet.
“CONGRATULATIONS MRS COLLINSON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Constance Jane, Mum, Laura, Margaux, Nina and Marty are grinning ear to ear, waving streamers and blowing party horns.
Willa pulls out her phone and snaps a picture for her blog.
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Last Seen Blogs
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