So, Internetz, I have a secret. I know that you think I am a saint, a peach, a gem of a woman. Even if you do not know me In Real Life, I know that you think I’m as holy as Oprah because of my previous posts which are charming, curse-free, and reference butterflies and unicorns and Jesus.
Alas, I am not perfect. Internetz, I have an illegitimate love-child. She is three years old and I will be meeting her for the first time this weekend.
Let’s go back eight years to when I was living in Baltimore city all by my lonesome. I was a young girl in a giant, hard-knock-life kind of city, fresh (dropped) out of high school, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, plus whatever other innocent and naive sounding phrase you can think of. My first day at my new job in a tourist-trap restaurant downtown, I walked in and WHOOP THERE SHE WAS, her blonde hair reflecting the sunlight, temporarily blinding me, which caused me to accidentally grab her titty instead of a menu.
She goes: “Excuse me, hon, that’s sweet and all but I am in the fuckin’ weeds. Move.”
Those fifteen words marked the beginning of a beautiful relationship. She is my OP (Original Pookie), someone with whom I can sit and watch chick-flicks– she’ll wipe my tears while I spoon ice cream into her mouth. Someone that I am not afraid to fart in front of, not that I ever do that, but if I did, I would totally do it in front of her unabashedly and most likely fan it in her direction.
Pookie is an original Baltimore Hon, full of attitude, brash and outspoken. She is full of the best stories, all true, all things she’s lived through. She is the most generous, caring, warm person you or I or your Grandma Louise will ever meet.
Anyway, fast forward to the summer of 2005, Pookie and her husband were trying desperately to have a baby and it just wasn’t happening. Then his job sent him overseas for what was to be a two-year project, and instead of putting their family plans on hold until he returned, she asked me to knock her up. When he moved overseas, I moved in (with my infant son) and poked her multiple times daily (with needles full of hormones and other IVF drugs). Soon after, she was pregnant and crying on my shoulder/yelling at me/throwing things at my head/making me get her ice cream at 2am.
Unfortunately I never met this child of mine as I had to move back to Arizona before she was born, but I always felt like I had some claim to her since I was the one putting baby furniture together and cleaning up after dealing with her mother’s hormonal highs-and-lows and gestational diabetes and cats. Ugh, I despise cats.
Wow, that was a long-winded story just to point out that I am meeting my illegitimate love-child tomorrow and I am very excited. Also I’ll be working with Pookie on a 12-month Secret Project starting this weekend which will be sooo much fun, not to mention (hopefully) lucrative (eventually).
Aside: It is supposed to snow in her town over the weekend and I am so! not! ready! for that kind of cold yet. Luckily she still has those fucking cats, which I will gladly skin and wear to keep warm, if necessary.