I was going to write about what I miss more: beer or sex, when I realized that I had other more pressing matters to discuss. Besides, the beer vs. sex issue is really a draw. If you drink enough beer, you can pass out before ever really missing sex. If you’re having enough sex, beer is like the cherry on top of your ice cream cone; it’s nice, but not really needed. If you don’t have either in your life, you are obviously a member of the clergy or a single pregnant woman.
I talked to my friend, Beth, last night. She had just returned to Boston from a two-week backpacking trip in Europe. She was eating at a restaurant when she called me, surrounded by friends, on her way to a margarita bar. Hmmmm….. When her friends finally got frustrated by her continued talking on her cell phone, she asked if she could call me back on Sunday. She said something like, “What are you doing on Sunday? Are you going to be busy? I’ll call you.” I laughed. What am I doing on Sunday? What do I do on any given day? I watch home decorating shows, cook, clean and try to stay awake to stave off nighttime insomnia. Yeah, I’m free on Sunday.
After I hung up the phone I went into the bathroom, pulled up my shirt, and rubbed by bulging belly. I have a baby in there. A human baby. A little life that will one day feel frustrated and isolated by partying friends and lovers that abandon him. A life that is not my own is inside my body. He has needs, desires, and dreams that are completely separate from my own. He woke me up this morning because he was hungry. All it took was some swift kicks to my lower intestine and gnawing feeling that I could eat a small horse. Little tyrant.