Maintenance

I am not good with the cappuccino maker yet. This was my second morning to use it, and granted, I made less of a mess and spent less time than the morrning before, I still suck at it. Jason now knows that I can use it without blowing up the kitchen, so he won't make them for me anymore. (That happened with changing my tires, too. I need to stay more inept, I guess.) It's made me late for work, too. This morning, I hopped up and down, watching it let out steam, and yelled, "Hurry hurry hurry!" like Parker Posey in "You've Got Mail."

My boss called me "low maintenance" today. He was actually referring to my pregnancy and saying that he appreciated me being "low maintenance" during it. It's a compliment, but sometimes I wonder if it doesn't actually serve a person well to be low maintenance in life. You get overlooked. I would've liked to have been fussed over a bit more these past eight months, but people mainly just forgot that I was pregnant at all. My friend Mindy was a very low maintenance pregnant woman. This past July, she was out mowing the lawn while nine months preggers, with a toddler strapped to her back. Honorable, I suppose, but....oh come on.

It would've made a good beatitude: "Blessed are the low maintenance, for they shall be fussed over."