A guest post by SpokesGay.
Socializing as a liberal in Vermont is sometimes difficult, and for non-obvious reasons. Last night was a potluck at Neighbor’s house. About 20 people. The kitchen was, as usual, filled with people eating and drinking, the table overflowing with food. Crowded and convivial.
“Mommy” is one of the social circle. She has two children and a third on the way in about a month. She believes the physical travails of pregnancy—including her difficulty having an orgasm with Daddy in her third trimester—make up the most compelling cocktail chatter. “Maybe that’s the secret to not having another late baby,” she mused in a recliner with a can of sparkling water infused with 100% all-natural essential berry-ness. “If I can orgasm enough in the last few months maybe that will get things moving.”
Most of her maladies, you see, are due to how long it took her to figure out Western Medicine didn’t Know Everything. Here are some excerpts from her conversation with neighbor’s housemate:
Mommy: “I can’t believe I just tried coconut oil—it’s so much better for my rash. Sure, the hydrocortisone makes it go away, but it also makes it come back—it’s treating the symptom, not the problem. Although I am having a hard time determining the dosage of coconut oil.”
Housemate: “You should probably dilute it. The body works better when it absorbs trace amounts of ingredients. Your system is just overwhelmed. I’ve been doing this with tea tree oil. . blah. blah. . blah.”
Mommy: “Oh, my doctor is a naturopathic doctor and she recommended the same thing. She’s so great, so non-judgmental.”
Mommy’s second-most-scintillating topic is Her Children. “Higgins” and “Agatha” (not their names, but so that type of name) come to every party, every event. They are 7 and 8. The family travels with a portable toy store to keep them busy. Reasonable enough, sure. But these children are indulged.
They are sullen unless they know you. They’re not shy, or awkward. They have no vocabulary deficiencies. They’re voluble with all the “aunts and uncles” that make up our circle. But they will stare straight at me with a Village of the Damned look and walk away if I try to talk to them. No response. Nothing. Joking, praising their toys. . nothing works.
Back to the potluck. As I said, the kitchen was super crowded, and there was an abundance of food; fried tofu, pasta salad, chips, salsa, guacamole, fresh bread and oil, green salad, spring rolls. Anything one could want from bland to spicy.
Mommy nudged her way into the corner near the sink (no mean feat considering the size of her belly, and you’d better be considering the size of her belly) and started opening cabinets. Neighbor asked her what she needed. “Oh, a pot; Higgins wants me to make him macaroni and cheese.” I had to turn away because I couldn’t control the look on my face. With that bounty of food, and an entire table taken over by crayons and Jenga, and toy cars. . . Higgins needs boxed macaroni and cheese made for him at someone else’s house in a too-crowded kitchen.
It was, of course, Annie’s mac and cheese. Because a box with a hippy-dippy fun font and rustic cartoon bunnies makes it Wholesome, not “boxed macaroni and cheese.” Because if you make Kraft Dinner you’re not being very naturopathy.