We spent the long weekend with Jack’s uncles in Arkansas. Unlike, Jack’s parents, his uncles are the sweetest people. They had a huge birthday bash for me with homemade cake and gifts piled on the dining table. I don’t have a real relationship with my relatives, and Jack’s parents think I’m a pesky squirrel that somehow slipped in while they were napping, so to be around caring people who made me feel loved felt good.
Later, his uncle showed us to our room. The room was large with an attached bathroom and expensive hand soap. But I couldn’t focus on this. As he showed us the towels and how to adjust the thermostat I found myself transfixed by the artwork hanging on the wall:
Am I the only one looking at a portrait of confused sperm? Uncle Ben caught my expression and smiled proudly, its made by a well known local artist. I can tell you’re blown away by it. After he left, I turned to Jack, don’t you see it?! He squinted at it for a minute and then laughed, yep, looks like we’re sleeping under a portrait of sperm. Then glancing at the bedspread he shook his head, and looks like we’ll be sleeping under a blanket of eggs:
Maybe infertility has seriously fried my brain, but all I’m saying is its a strange feeling to pull up your eggy blanket and look up at 3-D sperm floating above your head before you go to sleep.