In further Adventures In My Back Alley, last week there was a dead rabbit. Now, my neighbourhood has a lot of big jackrabbits running (hopping?) around, and their numbers are exceeded only by the squirrel population. We are overrun. Anyway, given the large jackrabbit population, it is rare to see a dead one – they are quite street-smart, these rabbits – and so it is notable that there was a squashed one 100 feet away from my garage. I don’t know what was more upsetting, the squashed carcass or the massive flock of magpies eating it. It was quite distressing, since I drive past this carnage several times a day on my way to school, activities, groceries, etc. Then, one day, it was completely gone. Is it possible the magpies carried it away? Or is one of my neighbours much more strong-stomached than me, and felt it was his or her duty to the neighbourhood to clean it up? In any case, it’s gone, leaving only a stain on the ice behind.
It’s like a gross suburban nature show. I’m sort of surprised no one has made a reality series based on carrion and scavengers.
In much nicer news, I realized that my phone has a “Health” app on it. I know. I know. It’s all very five years ago, but I’ve spent some time in waiting rooms in the past week, and so due to extreme boredom I actually looked at the Health app. It features a step counter, which immediately made me feel inferior. Apparently, in order to keep up with my competitive nature, I need to start carrying my phone everywhere now. My steps are too low! If I walked 10,000 steps but the phone wasn’t there to capture it, did it really happen?
Speaking of Health, I’ve had lots of appointments lately, which makes me want to write a whole series of posts about Women’s Health. For example, last Friday I had a colposcopy, and the first thing I did was inform the gynecologist that the last time I was there, her partner couldn’t find my cervix, so I just wanted to let her know that I have a mysterious, hidden cervix. I used the words “cavernous wasteland” and I was talking pretty quickly because I was nervous, and feeling slightly exposed, what with my feet in the stirrups and no pants and anticipating a high level of discomfort. She listened to me, frowning, and looked at my chart. She looked at me, then at the chart again, and said “But I don’t have anything like that written down. Usually I note down any issues.”
I used my ujjayi breath, trying to stem the panic as she started the exam. “Huh.” she said, “Here’s your cervix. It’s…not hidden. Don’t worry. You’re not a wasteland.”
So that was relieving. Regarding womanhood, and women’s bodies, I found this very interesting, about changes in the “ideal female body” over the past 100 years. One conclusion that I think we can draw is that the “ideal female body” varies vastly from decade to decade, and we should all say “fuck it” and just celebrate our bodies the way they are. Right? Also, reading this I learned that I have the same bra size as both Jean Harlowe and Farrah Fawcett, which strikes me as gratifying, in a very strange way.
I told my husband this, since he was a big fan of Farrah back in the day, but he was less interested that I anticipated. “Isn’t she dead? How do you know her bra size?” Oh, honey. Just let me have my five minutes of weird same-bra-as-a-1970s-poster-girl moment.
I will now leave you with this photo, of Barkley dressed as an elderly lady who is judging you.