About The Following Exchange...

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):

: Joseph j7uy5 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.

2:04 PM

she falters to rise said...

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.

2:26 PM

trisha said...

    You science nerds! Couldn't you just ask her if she is knocked up?

    3:26 PM

Piece of Work said...

I second Trisha's comment! Hilarious post, by the way. Hope the invaders continue to help you with your lists.

5:15 PM

she falters to rise said...

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

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.