Small Talk

They finally phoned. They phoned, and I was less-than-thrilled.

Meeting two new people, inviting them into my "not-quite-decorated-even-though-I'm-unemployed" house, letting them sit on my red sofa (whilst banishing myself to the wooden Amish chair which is less of a chair and more of a tree stump [inasmuch as we don't have all the seating we need {inasmuch as we're newlyweds}])...well, it didn't sound like fun.

Not to mention the small talk.

But I try to do what's right, and they were just trying to do the same, so I figured I wouldn't make it harder than necessary for them.



So they came. They came, and they sat on my red couch (which you can see in the above photos, barely), and I fidgeted around on the tree stump chair. They asked me how I was doing and then proceeded to compare notes on their kids' kindergarten teachers for 15 minutes, while I sat silently squirming. They brought me an apple pie, which was nice (though I promptly bequeathed it to my mother-in-law on account of I don't like pie).

Then they remembered I was there, and shared with me a message, which was also nice, but by the time they got around to it, my bottom (bottom!) was growing numb and all I wanted was for them to vacate the premises so I could get rid of the apple pie and get on with my life.

But they wanted to chat more, asking me when we're having kids, and then why we are waiting so long to have kids (to which I sincerely wanted to respond, "because I don't want to end up like you," but that might have only estranged them). I explained I want to get my degree before I have kids, so in the (un?)likely event of Poor Kyle divorcing me for being such a nasty people-person, I would have an education to put on a resumé. And then I explained I can't go to school just yet because it costs $7,000/semester now, instead of much less once I get my Canadian paperwork completed. And no, I can't work either (unless I want to get deported [which I kind of do, but still...]), so I am basically an S.A.H.W.: Stay at Home Wife. And yes, since they asked, it does go against everything I stand/sit for, and I know Anne of Green Gables would be disappointed in me. I do bake, though.

"But I don't babysit," I added (since I've learned to set ladies straight on that subject as soon as they find out my lack of daily responsibilities).

And then they left, hopefully for another five months until they feel so immensely guilty for neglecting their duties that they phone me once again.

I know I'm flippant; I know it's my fault I don't like the idea--not theirs. But I'm not even going to try to rationalise away my bad behaviour. Perhaps someday, but not now...

...and I wonder why I don't have many friends up here.