My missing gene

A couple of evenings ago, my husband and I made a trip to a Sears. We had purchased a new vacuum cleaner a few weeks ago and had noticed that the price had dropped since our purchase. I thought $20 was worth the trip. After we arrived, my husband took the receipt to the counter, and I found myself wandering aimlessly around the store. I first found myself in the furniture department, then I wandered off into refrigerators and stoves. I came back around to see if my husband had gotten the money back only to find that he was no longer at the counter, nor was the clerk. After a few seconds, I could hear my husband's voice (its a rather deep, booming voice) laughing with the clerk and another woman back in the vacuum area. Slightly confused, I made my way toward his voice. He spotted me, and had a mischievous look on his face. "What is he up to?" I thought to myself.
Larry is a talker. He can chat away anyone's ear. We have been stuck in stores for over an hour because he will strike up a conversation with someone. I can't totally blame him, people seem to gravitate to him and want to chit chat. I, on the other hand, typically have the "don't talk to me unless I talk to you first" written in bold letters across my forehead. I'm a "let's get to the point" person and I am out of the store in 3 seconds flat. Larry is a "so....can you explain to me how this driving mechanism works on the LX14000" person, and 12 hours later he finally decides NOT to buy it!

So, back to the vacuums.....I located Larry gabbing away with the lady clerk and the speculative vacuum buyer. He was attempting to sell the same model we had purchased to the shopper, and actually knew more about said vacuum than the clerk. He was demonstrating the item, explaining the tools, and offering a brief analysis of the canister vs. upright. I wandered over, and asked "so...sweetie, what'cha up to?" "Oh, nothing. This lady is looking at our vacuum, and I thought I would tell her about it." He had a big ol' grin on his face, as if he was 5 again and looking at Tonka Trucks in the Toy isle. "Hummm." I said. "Okay......well you have fun!"

Expecting to be there for at least an eternity, I turned the corner and decided to make the rounds again. Somehow, I found myself in the baby section. Baby clothes, baby cribs, baby gear, you know.... the endless displays of pink, blue, yellow and green (what is it with babies and pastels anyways?). Wading through it all, I found myself in the company of two very young girls, and yes I mean girls, checking out a crib and matching furniture. They were discussing the items with much seriousness, and seemed to know what it was they were looking for. I stood there amongst all the pink jumper suits, diaper collection devises, and crib safety gadgets just waiting, waiting for the ovaries to start kicking and screaming. "Okay, if I stand here long enough, this stuff will start to sink in." I thought. If I try hard enough, I too can be examining cribs, changing tables, and the breast milk suction apparatus with as much enthusiasm as those two girls. I stand there, hoping for a lightning strike, a glowing light from God, a message of some sort that says "Now is the time. You, Bindy, must have a child or be damned for all eternity." But nothing, no message, no feeling of longing or anticipation, nothing at all.

Disappointed, I decided to go gather my husband. Along the way I stopped off to stare at the new selection of Sony plasmas they had in. Then I had a thought. My husband is off chatting with the chicks in housewares, and here I am in electronics. What is wrong with this picture? Even after an attempt of brainwashing via pink elephants and purple giraffes, I can't seem to get "that feeling" I have been told about by my friends and family. Am I deficient, genetically mutant, or just plain messed up? Am I missing the gene that makes a woman really a woman? I don't care for gabbing on the phone, shopping, having long nails, push up bras, $200 eye makeup, or reading Cosmo. I don't drool over babies or small children (but I love having lengthy conversations with them starting at about age 3), nor do I wish for the day when my SUV interior matches my diaper bag. The idea of having another person growing inside me makes me feel....well claustrophobic. It's not that I am not maternal. I love kids, being with kids, playing with kids. They are some of the most insightful, creative, and underappriciated humans on the planet, at least to me, but I seem to miss that "thing" that makes a woman want to procreate.

After a few minutes staring at the glowing blue screens, I decided it was time to go. I located Larry again, this time he was actually at the counter getting our money. Yeah!
As we leave, I tell him about the baby stuff and about my missing genetic code. "Is there any possible way we could change sex organs?" I ask him with a small amount of seriousness. He looked at me confused, "Sorry babe, no can do." I grabbed his hand and headed for the escalators.
"Could we quickly stop by the tools before leaving? There is this new air hammer I want to check out." I said, emphasizing the word "quickly." He looked at me, smiled, and said "she's back!"


P.S. After my husband read this, he asked me to add that the vacuum "thing" was just a love of gadgets. It's not that he loves vacuums or the job of vacuuming (I can attest to that), but that it is a tool is what interests him. Okay, honey.....your masculinity is back in its rightful place.