The neuroscience grad student, SFTR, on her blog,
She Falters to Rise
(presumably a sly reference to
She Stoops
To Conquer, by Oliver Goldsmith), does not use
run-on sentences as much as I do, but she does have some entertaining
and
interesting posts, such as
Freaky
Monday; I left a comment there that drew some
amusing responses. First, an excerpt from the post:
[...] Second, I ate lunch today. I rarely crave
lunch--usually I'm running around too quickly to even think about
eating. Today, for some reason, I needed to eat. If that doesn't amaze
you, here's the real kicker. I ran over to the campus store and bought
sushi. I NEVER eat sushi. I find it disgusting and noxious and
blah-gag-blah. For some reason though, I just had to have wasabi,
ginger, and soy sauce, and the only sane way to eat these thing
together is to have some sushi. [...]
The comments (selected):
said...
Ummm, Ummm, I don't know about the spilling etc., but the
sushi?...Could your beta-HCG be, ummm, elevated?
Sorry. None of my business.
No need to apologize--that was the first thing I thought
when I started
to salivate at the thought of popping california rolls;) As far as I
can tell, a body-snatcher is a more probable cause than an increase in
my beta-HCG. Still, a craving for sushi is really off-the-wall for me.
said...
You science nerds! Couldn't you just ask
her if she is knocked up?
3:26 PM
Beta-HCG is the beta-subunit of
human chorionic
gonadotropin, which is secreted by a
developing
placenta; when elevated, it is an indication of pregnancy.
As it happens, I used to be a literary kind of guy, before my brain
started to look like this:
I happen to recall that, in
She Stoops To Conquer,
one of the plot lines is an attempt to interest a young lady in a
gentleman acquaintance:
HARDCASTLE. Depend upon it, child, I'll never control
your choice; but Mr. Marlow, whom I have pitched upon, is the son of my
old friend, Sir Charles Marlow, of whom you have heard me talk so
often. The young gentleman has been bred a scholar, and is designed for
an employment in the service of his country. I am told he's a man of an
excellent understanding.
MISS HARDCASTLE. Is he?
HARDCASTLE. Very generous.
MISS HARDCASTLE. I believe I shall like him.
HARDCASTLE. Young and brave.
MISS HARDCASTLE. I'm sure I shall like him.
HARDCASTLE. And very handsome.
MISS HARDCASTLE. My dear papa, say no more, (kissing his hand), he's
mine; I'll have him.
HARDCASTLE. And, to crown all, Kate, he's one of the most bashful and
reserved young fellows in all the world.
MISS HARDCASTLE. Eh! you have frozen me to death again. That word
RESERVED has undone all the rest of his accomplishments...
So in accordance with my peculiar, idiosyncratic sense of humor, and in
recognition of the name of the blog, I thought it would be amusing to
feign being RESERVED in the comment.
In my own defense, I must say that I spent a number of years working in
a treatment program for persons with Anorexia. Every day, I
talked with patients about such things as pregnancy and contraception.
Women with Anorexia stop having periods, and often they
assume that they can't get pregnant. That is, to put it
mildly, A BIG MISTAKE. So I talked about it a lot.
I also learned to be comfortable, in direct contravention to
my Catholic upbringing, talking about breast size, hips, and all that
stuff.
And as a husband, I know what it is like to go through this:
"Honey, I'm on my way home now. Do you need
anything from the store?"
"Yes. I need some Always®
unscented pantiliners. Be sure to get the unscented
ones."
Then, I stand in aisle 7 at Meijer, the only man amidst a crowd of
women, searching through the thousands of boxes of feminine products,
making sure I get the right kind.
Note to unmarried guys:
you
would not believe how many different kinds of those things there are.
Note to recently-married guys: for some reason,
you
HAVE TO get EXACTLY the
right ones. Don't even think of coming home with
the wrong ones, unless you have an unusually large, air-conditioned,
doghouse in the back yard.
I'll admit, I was a bit embarrassed at first. If you call
blushing, palpitations, sweaty palms, and shortness of breath "a bit
embarrassed." But after a while, you get used to it.
I second Trisha's comment! Hilarious post, by the way. Hope the invaders continue to help you with your lists.
5:15 PM
It seems he doesn't realize that it's OK to be forthright with me. It's probably scary for a man to ask someone if she is "knocked-up", especially when he doesn't know the potential baby's mama.
Or, he's just as dorky as me and likes to use nerd-speak.
Or, he was testing our knowledge...
I don't like to discriminate. I welcome all street-talk, nerd speak, and any other type of vernacular.
5:57 PM