N observes me convince Klara put back a bag of jelly beans she grabbed at the store.

“It’s really great how you do this!” he enthuses. “Don’t you wish you could use these skills somewhere else? Like at work? To promote your career?”

“No!” I bellow.”Nope. Nopesie. NOOO! The only person who is entitled to my boundless patience, constant nurturing, and an engaged, inventive responsiveness is this little human being who was extracted from inside me. Everybody else can go jump off a cliff.”

“But isn’t it sad that you develop all these great new skills and they don’t go anywhere else?” he insists.

I’m honestly the least nurturing person I know, so I don’t find it sad. I find it wonderful. Unless a person was surgically extracted from inside me, I don’t nurture. Even discussing the possibility makes me seethe.


4 thoughts on “Skills”

  1. “Unless a person was surgically extracted from inside me, I don’t nurture.”

    Hey, knock it off, lady. At your relatively young age and professional position, you can’t even pretend to be a psychopath. Obviously, you’re required to at least pretend that you care about your students, and certain other people (sister and other relatives, etc.) within your orbit.

    Wait until you’re my age and long retired, after everybody that you ever had an obligation to is either dead or well out of sight — and then you can enjoy the privilege of saying out loud that you don’t give a damn about anybody else sharing the ridiculous farce called the human race.


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