Friday, March 30, 2012 at El Cafecito
The Stone Angel
I’ve been waiting for hours. I’ve re-knitted Barney’s toque and handwritten a letter to Barack Obama that I have edited and folded into a crack in my purse. They don’t care about people here. I saw a girl without any shoes on pass out two-bite brownies to all the staff and now they’re chatting about their weekends or their children.
I’m sitting here quietly because I’ve never been a verbal complainer. In fact, when I was giving birth to my third, the nurses all took bets that I would be last to go into labour because I was so calm and silent. Then I went first, popped Mitchell out within 30 minutes, and then got yelled at by two different lady nurses that I had cost them some money. I didn’t even laugh at these silly women trying to pass the time. That’s what they’re still doing and I can only imagine they’re bored in real life because they keep creating drama here.
Barney’s scarf will be a gift for next Christmas by the time I get in to see a bloody doctor for my… for my issue.