Sunday, June 20, 2010

Houston, we have a problem

People always ask me if I'm like Blanche. Well, Blanche was an oversexed, self-involved, man-crazy, vain Southern belle from Atlanta—and I'm not from Atlanta. - Rue McClanahan

The dinner conversation started, as I imagine all in depth discussions of the difficulties unique to space copulation do, with a rather banal question. I asked Blanche, “Do you enjoy your job in medicine?”

“No,” she said, “I hate it.”

“What would you rather be doing?”

“Well,” she said, “I’ve always wanted to be an astronaut.”

I choked a little to keep from blowing onion soup out my nose. Like the Great Wall of China, the pile of toiletries Blanche brought with her for the weekend could actually be seen from space. The thought of her willingly donning a flame retardant jumpsuit accessorized with hose attachments made me aspirate a little.

“An astronaut, eh?” I squeaked, still struggling for air.

Rose, the voice reason chimed in with, “You can’t be an astronaut. Space is really bad for aging.”

“Wrinkles?” I said. “That’s why she can’t go to space…because she might get wrinkles?”

"Yes," she said, nodding. "I heard you age like five years for every week you’re up there. It’s a real problem."

Blanche looked at Rose like this was the single most idiotic thing she had ever heard. Aging. As if that was something that could ever happen to her. It was utterly ridiculous, as though Rose had just warned against the possibility of growing a third boob with a single trip to the moon.

Blanche had other concerns. Principally, how exactly would one clean up after space sex.

“You’re going to be having sex in space?” I said.

“Well, yeah,” she said, looking at me like that was the dumbest question anyone had ever asked an astronaut.

You know, you think you’d never be part of discussion about the potential difficulties of sex clean up in a zero gravity environment. But then, you have a little more wine, and suddenly, you’re saying things like, “What about a butterfly net?” As if that would even work.


Maria said...

It is sort of strange how often I do the sort of thing that you just did.

I have these imaginary conversations with Ellen Foster, Opie, Anne Lamott, Aunt Jemima, Bette Davis, Atticus Finch and have even imagined a debate between team Edward and team Jacob. I can entertain myself very easily.

Of course, I don't have these conversations out loud, that I am alone in the house, I have had a few out loud ones. The dog thinks that I am hilarious. A friend left me some doobies (I don't know what you call them now, we called them that) and I decided that since I don't have to be a role model for awhile, I would imbibe with Harriet.

We ate an entire jar of marshmallow fluff.

Terroni said...

In this case, Maria, it was an actual conversation with two of Blake's friends. He suggested the blog names; they suit these girls perfectly.

I do have imaginary conversations with Anne Lamott and Atticus Finch, though. I hope to have a real conversation with Anne someday. I plan to just run into her at a coffeeshop one afternoon.

You and your bff are smoking doobies together? I'm so jealous! If Blake and I didn't have a drug test coming up, we'd be all over some pot brownies.

Graci, the pathologist, is never drug tested, but I don't think she would even consider it.

graci said...

Ha! Actually, I've been considering it more and more lately! Apparently I'm becoming more adventurous, but I'm pretty sure I could still be randomly drug tested. Maybe some day...

Eric said...

Astronauts floating around with butterfly nets trying to catch...stuff?

Hilarious, T. I was bent over at my desk with people looking in at me wondering what the hell was going on.

Love it.

Terroni said...

Eric, I thought I might be the only person to find this funny. I'm glad I was wrong.

MmeBenaut said...

Well you had me thinking about space sex there for a while too. I'm almost positive that it has already happened up there on the space station. Perhaps you could send in a question to NASA and find out.

Susanlee said...

Space sex with a condom. Easy clean up.

Word Verification: Flogin. Which seems weirdly appropriate.

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