posted Sat, 09 Jul 2005
This afternoon, while I was altering a pair of $5 Junior League thrift shop pants for Leigh (“Don’t you dare pay someone $35 to alter those for you!” I told her), my friend Aimee came over, bearing gifts and seeking forgiveness for having stood me up for lunch yesterday. I had waited for her, starving, at the restaurant, for 15 minutes, before deciding she wasn’t going to show up. I went to Kroger for bread and cheese and returned to work. Not my idea of a good lunch.
When she told me that she had stayed home from work with a sick infant and had spent all day awaiting word of the diagnosis of a suddenly ill friend – sadly, terminal cancer, I forgave her.
And I liked the present.
After a short time, the conversation turned to mammograms, as women talk so often does. It takes us only a few minutes to dispense with talk about men, and then we move on to the good stuff. Sorry, guys.
Aimee and I were both astonished to discover that Leigh has not yet had a mammogram. She is past 35, which is the age at which one is supposed to have the baseline exam.
“It hurts!” I warned her.
“No, it doesn’t,” Aimee laughed.
I looked at Aimee, who is quite voluptuous. She had the grace to look slightly uncomfortable.
“Well, with me, I guess it’s just kinda like laying a big ole slab of meat on the machine,” she laughed. “With women with little titties...”
“Yeah, well, with me, it hurt!” I said.
Leigh, who has an infant, looked at me, then at Aimee, and said, “I’d better have mine done before I quit nursing, because I looked like Class Factotum before Sophia was born.”
The end of the line
1 year ago