Bad Karma vs Serendipity

Yeah, so this week's lesson for me was a deeper realization that my transitory profession is not the best environment for partnership. I used to hate that word. Partner. Pretentious heterosexuals in the Bay Area use that word a lot. But I'm digging it now. It connotes something much more appealing than the word relationship. Relationship feels like random associations with my fingers crossed hoping for some inexplicable connection beyond a rowdy romp and middle-class conversation about coffee and politics (I really need to stop doing that). Partnership is the real deal. I'm signing a contract. I'm bound to serve. And there's reciprocity in a partnership. Compromise. Willing compromise.

What the hell does have to do with a picture of Gerber Graduates? A, number 1: They are a delicious treat and easy to digest because they are made for freakin babies. I, being a rather compulsive sort, have most of my neurosis centered in the stomach area. I like shit that's easy on the gut. B, letter 4: After about four minutes into my grocery shopping I realized I was surrounded by 20-something couples doing their weekly trip. A little irritated by conversations eavesdropped by yours truly, I decided to splurge and pick up some comfort food. Behold: the Gerber Graduates Arrowroot Cookie. On sale no less!

So I get to the check-out counter and there is another couple. There was something different about these guys. A bit somber, more sweat pants and less make-up, frowning, nervous, and oh fuck me!... is that a pregnancy test you're buying? I had a mixed reaction: on the one hand it is horrendous to have that type of pressure put upon you, especially on a school night. My stomach would be doing cartwheels. And yet I was a bit pissed: I saw no partnership. Just a relationship that, at present, hinged on the contents of a little pink box and kidney function. In that moment, my hands reached for my BABY FOOD and I strategically placed it on the conveyor belt so all the world could see. What's it called when the hairs on your neck stand up? That happened.

Yeah, so that wasn't the nicest thing to do. I know. I pray out to whomever's listening: let that little stick that the poor girl peed on be two blues lines and not one pink... or a smiley face... or whatever the hell they put on there. I imagine I will get my karmic-slap-in-the-face tomorrow. I think the heavens are getting a little tired of Fat Jessica keeping me up at night. I can sense them getting more creative.