I work in an office of about 70 people, about half of whom are women, 10% of whom are pregnant.

Let’s just say that if one more person complains to me of  pregnancy-related woes I am likely to go postal on this place.

Ok, that’s an exaggeration, but I am sorely tempted to ruin the conversation entirely by telling them exactly why I’m pissed off that they, with their due dates a week after I was supposed to give birth (before my miscarriage) should go find someone slightly more sympathetic to talk to.

Like a lamp post.

People have been making me happy these past few days; although entirely unintentionally I’m sure.

Yesterday I was crossing the street and passed in front of a bright blue Subaru WRX with the roof rack accessory. Sitting inside was a big guy with a shaved head and sporty sunglasses. The window was down and he was rocking out / singing at the top of his lungs to a girly-ass song about rain washing the pain away.

I totally cracked up.

Then this morning, on my way to work a construction worker with the full mustache / beer belly combo was climbing out of a dump truck when a pigeon flew by about a foot from his head. He squealed. I mean arm waving, falling off the dump truck step, high pitched squeals here people.

I totally cracked up.

Then I got to work and complimented the receptionist on her nice knit Tommy Hilfiger sweater and she said ‘Thanks, I got it from Winners…it’s a Tommy Lee Jones’.

I ran around the corner and only then, totally cracked up.

This morning in the park Meeka’s squirrel hunting was interrupted by the untimely arrival of a cat.

Who was also hunting squirrels.

Neither of them caught anything but could you imagine what would happen if they ever did work together.

I know, I know dogs and cats are different species so they can’t communicate. And sure, in this case Meeka and the cat were probably completely taken up with mutual fear, but still!

Meeka is very good at herding squirrels, cutting off their avenues of escape and driving them up trees. And cats can climb trees.

I think you know where I’m going with this….chapter 1 in ‘trap setting for dummies’.

The only flaw in my plan might be the death blow. I’m not sure how a cat would go about killing a squirrel but I’m pretty sure it would involve grabbing it with all four sets of claws.

When I started rock climbing the first thing I was taught was to keep three grips on the wall at the same time, either two feet and one hand or two hands and one foot. So the conundrum: I’m pretty sure the cat couldn’t kill the squirrel without falling out of the tree itself.

I’m sure Meeka would love to stand at the bottom of the tree and have both a cat and a squirrel drop out of the heavens to land stunned at her feet but it’s not exactly the workings of a long and squirrel filled relationship.

So the cat would have to somehow knock the squirrel out of the tree and Meeka would have to catch it on the way down.

I’m not sure if this is possible (if you ever saw Meeka try to catch a Frisbee you’d understand why) but Meeka has a stuffed beaver she likes to destroy, I am going to try to convince Bert to climb a tree this weekend so he can chuck the beaver down to the dog. You know, just in case.

I’ll bring a camera.

You know the whole debate over whether chivalry is dead, well it’s not, it’s just harder to find now among all the look alikes - like Buffala Mozarella.

That’s actually not my point though, my point is that vanity is alive and well despite the fact that French tv this morning is taken up entirely with images of the Pope in Paris. I will prove my point with two examples.

Example 1: The perfect tan

We were at the beach near Venice (Italy not Florida) and my Mom suddenly issues a dire warning. ‘Bert, if you walk along the right side of the beach…be careful…there are topless women over there.’

This sparked a discussion about the fact that topless sunbathing actually seems to be less common now than it was ten years ago. Perhaps modesty is making a come back. ‘Er, I don’t think so.’ my Mom said with conviction.

A woman was sunbathing topless but was wearing a regular bikini bottom. Not satisfied with her exposure she bunched the fabric up in her ass crack, and then pulled out a mirror. Large breasts swinging widely she arched her back and stretched her arm back over her shoulder.

And checked out her own ass in the mirror.

Example 2: A sucker for compliments

French three year old girls think I am ‘trop jolie’! Not just ‘jolie’ not even ‘tres jolie’ but TROP joile. How awesome am I.

Ok it might only be one three year old French girl and it really shouldn’t have made my day. I suppose I should have been more flattered by the colleagues who complimented my work but I wasn’t.

On my way back from the meeting, a giant quiche lorraine and lemon tart clasped in my hands I passed a little girl who told her Mom that I was beautiful. She probably just said it because I was wearing a nice dress and shiny gold shoes but I don’t care, I’m riding a wave of vanity all the way back to Montreal.

Oh, the Pope’s on tv again…

Every once in a while someone picks up the phone and makes a call that forces you to reevaluate who you are inside.

That happened for me earlier this week when a friend called to ask if Bert and I wanted to go to the Kink Festival.

Now I have been well trained by my geek husband and so my first reaction was ‘to the internet’. You see I have no idea what a kink festival is or what is consists of.

First off there are actually ‘kink seminars’. I don’t know all the details but I picture some sexy pyramid scheme promoted by voluptuous women in latex Cleopatra costumes.

Really not my cup of tea.

Anyway, seminars aside I was, I admit, momentarily attracted by the Japanese anime themed costume ball. I love costume parties, Halloween is my second favorite holiday and Sailor Moon was one of the best TV shows of the mid-90’s.

But there was a video-ad.

And in the video-ad women went around looking sexy and touching each other. Oh there was nothing inappropriate about it – nothing that would be covered by a bathing suit was caressed (and sex-ed classes teach us that’s ok). But I am so not into strangers touching me.

The other day I was walking the dog and some guy made a comment about my ass – I spent the next two hours trying to figure out why I thought it was ok to walk the dog in short – shorts. I’m 31 for crying out loud.

So the conundrum…on one hand I don’t like not knowing about a whole chunk of society…on the other hand – what if someone touches me.

Walking to work I resolved the perfect plan – a full burka.

Then it occurred to me that if I showed up at a kink festival dressed in a burka I might find myself insulting a whole spectrum of people. And, when all is said and done, getting beat up is really all about a bunch of strangers touching you really, really hard.

So I chose ignorance.