The Bean Blog (currently on hiatus)

Monday, September 27, 2004

The Waiting Game

There's a suburb of Philadelphia called the Main Line. I'm not sure what, exactly, the Main Line is. I used to think it ran along City Line Avenue, but that doesn't make much sense. It must be Lancaster Ave or Montgomery Ave. Well, my musings are neither here nor there. Suffice it to say that the Main Line is very hoity-toity, and as you may have guessed, I am not.

My regular readers know two things about me: 1) I am trying to get pregnant and 2) my grandmother died this summer. My grandmother's death has had a profound effect on me, and I decided that I would wear black--and sometimes gray--so that my outside appearance reflects my inner feelings. Honestly, I can't imagine wearing a cute t-shirt with some type of quip on it right now. Black suits me fine.

In order to get pregnant, I have enlisted the help of a doctor, and this doctor's office is on the Main Line. When I sit in the waiting room, I am surrounded by wealthy looking white women. They are surprisingly young (or have had very good plastic surgery--definitely a possibility on the Main Line) and invariably have blond hair that is pulled back into a ponytail. Their make-up is tasteful, and their clothes are oftentimes shades of pastels displayed on fitted, collared shirts and capri pants.

When I walk in there with my shaggy hair (I really need a haircut), loose-fitting black pants and t-shirt, I feel a bit like the anti-Christ...or maybe just Marilyn Manson.

My fashion choice is all but unnoticeable in most of the places I spend my time. Just about every place has some other person all dressed in black--simply because it looks good--so I don't feel like I stand out. But in this lobby, in this suburb, I feel rather conspicuous.

You would also think that there might be a number of lesbians in the waiting room with me, as we are the people without sperm in house. But I don't think I've seen a lesbian yet. About 50% of the women there will have men with them, and I can't help but look at the couple and wonder, "Who's got the problem here?" Sometimes, a woman will be in the waiting room alone, and then she'll be joined by a man holding a small, brown paper bag. I know what's in there....

Men must not always bring their "boys" with them. Some of them must live too far away for that. As I sat in one of the "inner" waiting rooms (there are two inside the office and one in the lobby), I found myself looking at all of the closed doors along the hallway. I've been in several of the rooms myself at this point, but not all. I can't help but think, One of these rooms has a stack of porn in it.

There's a sign in the lobby of my doctor's office asking that women with children not bring their children with them out of respect for the women who do not have children yet. Yet. That's a nice touch. Implies that all of us will have children someday. The reality is that some of us won't.

4 Comments:

  • Wonderful observations and very well put. You probably aren't as conspicuous as you feel, though.

    By Blogger Diva, at 7:23 PM, September 27, 2004  

  • Heh... I like the concept of "The Porn Room". Makes you wonder how often a place like that updates its library.

    By Blogger Newell, at 12:43 AM, September 28, 2004  

  • That would make for a good excuse at the porn shop:

    "Yes, hello, my name is Dick Cravens and I'm with Dr. Dover's Fertility Clinic. I need to buy your latest issues of..." (pulls paper out of pocket and reads from it) "... Big Natural Hangers, Bootylicous, Black That Ass Up, etc."

    "Sir, we don't carry etc."

    By Blogger Dan, at 10:11 AM, September 28, 2004  

  • Thanks, Diva. But I think I am rather conspicuous. Believe me, I'm not one of them. Except that I am because we're all in (somewhat) of the same boat together.

    Newell, That's a good point about updating the library. I had never considered that. Maybe I'll have to ask my doctor about that. There's a theory that orgasms are supposed to help women conceive. Maybe I could use that room...

    Dan, You are a funny boy. "Sir, we don't carry etc." How do you come up with this stuff?

    By Blogger Oz, at 10:04 PM, September 28, 2004  

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