I’m very sorry about the long delay since my last blog.  The reason?  NO, I wasn’t out of country, in jail, or intubated in some ICU.  It simply boils down to the gig or two I needed to totally update and present (i.e. those are PAID endeavours) which takes time, energy, focus…. and I always want my blog to be fresh and uncluttered like my mind.  

The idea for this blog arrived in the form of a text message containing a question with the tag, “It never hurts to ask”.  In that case, it surely didn’t.  But I got to thinkin’ about this seemingly innocent statement.  Let’s explore, shall we?

WHEN IT DOESN’T HURT TO ASK:  It seems to me that far too many judgements spring forth from ignorance, so I’m all for curiosity and the quest for knowledge. Questions are of course one of the best ways to find out stuff.  A bonus could be that the enquiries can make the questioned subject feel they are interesting, have something to offer, that they matter.  By all means, ask if you are kind.  Ask to facilitate your understanding.  Ask to communicate caring.  Ask if you can help.  

WHEN IT DOES HURT TO ASK:  The obvious here is when the asking is ill-intentioned for the injurious purposes of trickery, slandering/gossip, or general meanness using information that is none of their business.  Like asking a woman if she is pregnant simply because she has a protuberant abdomen.  That kind of curiosity women all over the world can do without.  I personally am particularly sick of being grilled on “WHY don’t you have children (insert gasp of incredulousness here)?!” as if I were some kind of freak.  Asked gently by someone I care about, I might expound. Some strangers can take a hint with a reply such as “I’m bipetual.  I have a cat and a dog”, or stoney silence accompanied by a blank stare and a bit of drooling.  Others require intervention of a tougher sort.  In my experience, 99% of the those who would NOT cease interrogation were angry that I had successfully dodged inclusion in their Obviously Miserable Parents Club.  My lifestyle, not theirs.  Their problem, not mine.

My responses have ranged from changing the subject (with kind-hearted grannies), making a joke (“I was always afraid I’d leave the baby on the bus”), returning the volley (“Why don’t you lose 50 pounds?”) to varying levels of fiction depending on how pushy & inappropriate they continued to act.  That’s right, in extreme cases I didn’t hesitate to lie to get those clowns off my back.  If these strangers are that unkind or obtuse, I care not if they are upset or offended.  After all, I will never see them again.  And if I did, it substantially decreases their chances of haranguing me yet again.   I admit I have told people I had been born without a uterus.  Had cancer. That I needed a second mortgage to pay for failed IVF.  (I drew the line at revealing I was a sterile hermaphrodite – but don’t push me!) I even felt it necessary once to describe fictitious gynaecological  symptomalogy in gory detail (suffice it to say that not only am I a seasoned ER nurse with experience in such matters, but I also have an excellent imagination) until they turned away in nauseated disgust.

My point?   If your motivation doesn’t include kindness, mind your own beeswax.