And the cervix of a 19 year old…

I’ve always looked young for my age. I’d be the only one left out of the bar, as my friends filed in giggling and giddy on rum and coke Slurpees, with their fake ID and shoveled on make-up. The bouncers would laugh at me and tell me to go home to my mommy.

I was still being carded at the beer store when I was 30.

My gynecologist told me, just a few years ago, that she would never of guessed that I had 3 children because I have the cervix of a 19 year old. It was a strange compliment and not the kind you can call all your friends to brag about really but I skipped home joyfully just the same.

Yesterday, I was feeling particularly effected by the endless side effects of the Prednisone or possibly the Actonel that I am taking to help protect me from the side effects of the Prednisone…or the pills I’m taking to ward off the side effects of the Actonel… whatever.

I was feeling terrible and looking remarkably pregnant for a non-pregnant person so I went off to the grocery store in search of leafy greens, dried fruit and fiber. When I reached the cash, the owner started his usual chit chat which would normally bore me to tears but I’ve been starved of human contact lately so I entertained it. We were in mid mundane weather talk when he wondered rather abruptly,

“Are you married?”
“Married? Are you married? I never see you with a man, only your children.”

I haven’t been out of the house in a while, is he concerned or flirting?

“Oh, no…I’m not married. I have a boyfriend. I’m not married.”

“Do you live together?”

“No…no we don’t”

He smiles broadly and starts in about what I do for fun, how often do I see my boyfriend, do I like being a single mother and what am I planning to cook with the dried prunes etc…

Then he talks about how he would like kids and starts listing off the qualities he is looking for in a woman.

He is flirting! How fun! I think I can remember how to do this.

I smile back, toss my hair over my shoulder and make a few witty remarks, laughing contagiously and annoying the person waiting in line behind me to no end. Then the cashier comes right out with:

“I like older women.”

“Excuse me?”

He grins and gives me this you-know-what-I’m-talking-about-that’s-right-YOU look with a raise of the eyebrow and everything!

“I like older women, real women. I don’t like young girls. Older women have life experience, it’s very attractive.”

I refrained from letting my face fall immediately after the words left his lips. I refrained from clubbing him over the head with my bag of avocados. I refrained from screaming “I have the cervix of a 19 year old!!” in the grocery store.

I just took my box of bran and my produce, wished him a great day and good luck finding is dream woman and made my way gracefully out of the store and back home to take my 10 pills and a tablet of osteoporosis medication before getting cozy on the couch with a glace of prune juice and this month’s issue of O magazine, just in time for Dr. Oz.

Older women…pft!

Jennifer June

Dear Boyfriend, I think you might be Polish.

My boyfriend, is convinced that he is Spanish.

His father’s family is Acadian from New Brunswick and his mother was born in Montreal but adopted as an infant and apparently has no information about her cultural background. François has taken it upon himself to choose an ancestral background and has acquired the hellbent insistence that he is of Spanish lineage.

And why not? The food, the music, the dance, the hot men, the gorgeous women, what’s not to like?

“François in Spanish is Pedro”
“No babe, it’s really not.”
“It is so! My real name is Pedro”
“I’m guessing it’s probably Franco”
“Why don’t you believe in me?”
“Is this a real conversation?”

I’ll ignore the fact that he doesn’t speak a word of the language, has never been to the country and drowns in a pool of his own sweat whenever he eats anything remotely spicy. I’m even willing to overlook the fact that he is clearly as white as the driven snow.

There is just one thing…

Almost all the food François eats is as white as he is, contains potatoes and/or cream and his vegetable of choice is mushrooms.
Some of his specialties include:

Sausage sandwich on white bread
Pasta in cream sauce
Eggs, bacon and cheese on a waffle
Pork or poultry and potatoes
Creamy mushroom rice
Cabbage Soup
Pickle Soup (Yes..that’s right, you read it correctly)

When I was in the hospital, he filled my entire refrigerator and freezer with assorted Tupperware containers all full to the brim with cream of Cauliflower soup, to help me heal faster. There is enough in there to fatten and clog the arteries of feed an army.

I am forced to deduct that my boyfriend is more likely Polish or pregnant than Spanish.

Do I bring it up, risk crushing his dreams but nipping this in the bud, before the stories start about how he is probably a direct relative of Joan Miró or Salvador Dalí?

Do I pretend to believe in his fantasy and his god given right to master the vihuela?

And more importantly, what do I do with the 30 gallons of cauliflower soup in my freezer?

Jennifer June