I was reflecting on this over coffee with BI yesterday, using it as an example of how I’ve changed since high school.
“I was so ignorant about what it meant to be in a relationship. I had no idea what was considered normal behaviour as far as showing one’s feelings. Sure, I showed him I cared in my own way, but maybe by missing out on all the cliched things, I made him feel more unsure about our relationship.”
Like a horse being whipped, words started tumbling out of my mouth at lightning speed. “I was so clueless! I didn’t know what it meant to be someone girlfriend. I didn’t know what to expect of anything. And I never talked about my feelings – not to him or to my friends.”
I took a breath.
“But now, now I know it’s ok to talk about my feelings. In fact, it’s expected that you tell your partner how you feel about them – they want to hear it! I also know it’s ok to talk to your friends about your relationship, I mean I’ve seen Sex and The City, which taught me all I need to know about commiserating. Since then, it seems like all I can talk about on my blog, with my friends, is boys! Boys, boys, boys!”
BI nodded with comprehension.
“Given that I’ve come such a long way in terms of understanding relationships between men and women, you’d think that I’d be better at it. But guess what? In the last four years, my longest relationship lasted two months.
That is the greatest irony of all. When I was in high school, I didn’t plan to have a relationship at all. I didn’t take high school relationships seriously and would have been just fine if I had graduated without ever having a boyfriend. Instead, I ended up in a three-year relationship.
But when I went to university, I was totally ready for a relationship, and guess what? In the last four years, I haven’t had a single relationship where I would actually call the boy ‘my boyfriend.’”

BI chuckled and shook her head. “Maybe ignorance is bliss after all. Once you knew what to expect, those expectations may have actually been a barrier to you falling for someone.”

Maybe she’s right. Maybe that’s why first loves seem so perfect – because they’re easy. We’re all clueless with our first love, and it’s a clean slate. Our expectations only grow from there.

But my own statistics still left me baffled. “Four years. Hundreds of boys on campus. I mean, you’d think I could find one genuine love interest, right? Even if my expectations have changed, what are the odds that I would not like a single person in four years of university?”

For that, BI had no answer.

I’ve been told by many people that I surprise them, that I’m not quite what they expected. Although I’d like to credit this surprise factor to my unparalleled sense of humour, I am starting to think that perhaps it is due to my strange habits. Or what I’d like to call “curiousities” – as in, “Oh, that’s curious” (although no one talks like that anymore).

• I watch Friends in my spare time. In all of my spare time. As in, if I’m not sleeping or working or in class, I am watching Friends. I have watched the entire 10 seasons of Friends at least 10 times. I have memorized every line, and yet I never seem to tire of Chandler, Joey, Ross, Monica, Phoebe, and Rachel. Unless I am in the midst of watching another movie/TV show, Friends is in my DVD player. My roommate doesn’t understand how I can have Friends on repeat incessantly. What she doesn’t know is that, to me, they are almost like real people, waiting for me at home at the end of a long day. Their trivial problems and lame jokes that I’ve heard a hundred times are a welcoming escape for whatever else might be on my mind.
• I have to look good for exams. I will always put thought into my outfit, blow-dry and straighten my hair, and put on make-up, before going to an exam. I know no one’s going to be checking me out during an exam, but the point is that I want to look put-together. I don’t want to look like I was cramming until the last minute because I wasn’t. I don’t believe in last-minute cramming. I figure, if I look ready and confident, maybe I will feel ready and confident. It’s the best good-luck charm/ritual there is.
• I spend more time preparing breakfast than any other meal. I never skip breakfast to begin with, but even when I am too lazy to cook lunch or dinner for myself, I am willing to cook breakfast. Even more so on important dates, like exams and interviews. Somehow, it’s like starting the day off right makes me feel like I accomplished something, and if I feel accomplished by 9am, it’s hard to bring me down the rest of the day.
• I don’t talk to strangers. Even harmless, friendly strangers. It’s not that I don’t know how to chat, it’s that I don’t want to. Perhaps it was ingrained in me when I was much younger, because friendly strangers were not as prevalent in China. But I’ve been in Canada for nearly 10 years and still, I do not want to have conversations with strangers. On the other hand, I can instantly become best friends with someone I’ve just met, but only after a formal introduction.
• I believe in formal introductions. For example, if I am talking to Bob, and Bob’s friend joins our conversation, I will not acknowledge Bob’s friend until Bob says, “SG, meet my friend, X.” And then I will warm to X immediately. But if Bob never introduces us, I will ignore Bob’s friend and probably drift away from their conversation and let them continue without me.
• I use the Thumbnail Method to peel a banana from the stem, and I cannot understand people who peel bananas from the opposite end.
• I always use British spelling, and Canadians who use American spelling irk the hell out of me. I am even more riled when I see American spelling on Canadian sign-posts.
• I always mix wasabi and ginger into my soy sauce when I eat sushi, even though I know it’s wrong. But I eat sushi because of the wasabi-soy sauce mix, so it’s not something I am likely to change anytime soon.
• I like to wear heels but I hate the sound it makes on hardwood or granite floors. To mitigate this, I sometimes tiptoe in high heels so the heel doesn’t hit the floor.
• If there is an ingredient I don’t like in a food, I will pick it all out, every last bit, even if it’s messy. If the bad table manners is really unacceptable in that setting, I will not eat it at all.
• I am a picky eater, but I hate people telling me I am a picky eater. Because when they say it, it sounds like they’re chastising me, whereas in my mind, I am no different from a food critic (i.e. I am critical of the food I eat). On the other hand, I hate to waste food (of food that I actually will eat).
• I only eat Navel oranges by slicing them into wedges with the peel still intact. I will never peel a Navel orange.
• Before a night of drinking, I always make sure I have some fattening foods stored at my apartment. When I get home that night, I will always pig out and watch TV for a few hours until I pass out. So even though I may get home at 2am, I definitely won’t be in bed until 4am.
• I can’t go to bed immediately after getting home, drunk or not. I always have to “de-compress” by watching TV or something, so that my mind is cleared before I go to bed.
• I prefer to hang, rather than fold, my clothes. In my dream home, I’d have huge closets and no drawers at all.
• I do not wear or own yellow clothes.
• I feel naked without nail polish, even though most of the time, I wear clear or nude nail polish.
• I eat cereal as a snack. When I am on vacation, the first thing I buy is a box of cereal, which can be both a snack and a meal.
• If the United Nations does not recognize a state as a country, I do not recognize it as a country. And if anyone ever mentions it, I always immediately point out the fact that that state is not a country, even if it is not the time or place to start a controversial discussion. It’s like an instinctive reaction, even though sometimes I really should keep my mouth shut.
• I like the idea of eating eggplant, but I don’t actually like eggplant.

What are your curiousities?

I am also a slacker.
Most people equate good grades with studious. But this is an illogical conclusion. Case in point. This morning, I had a four-hour exam. I spent the entire week watching Queen Seon Duk, a 62-episode Korean period drama, telling myself I would study when I got back to University Town. I got back on Monday, and spent the entire day yesterday watching the Lord of the Rings trilogy¹. I spent an hour in the morning blow-drying and straightening my hair². And I spent most of the four hours during the exam trying to scrape off the chipped nail polish on my fingernails.

But I wouldn’t be surprised if I got an A on the exam. It’s happened before.

If my friends knew how little I study (for exams or in general), I think they would all stop being my friends. So I always pretend to be studious when it’s close to exam time, and I always pull in my weight for team projects. After four years of university, my peers have yet to realize what a slacker I am.

1. I suppose that earns me extra nerd points, but to be honest, it was because I had no other DVDs in my apartment, and I wanted to watch something on our plasma TV as opposed to on my computer.
2. I always have to look good for exams. I don’t know when this ritual started, but I cannot allow myself to go to an exam with sweatpants and messy hair. I may look like that all week, but at the exam, I will look pristine.

I have had this sort of experience hundreds of times. I’ve been told that I have strong intuitions when it comes to whether a guy is interested in me¹, but most of the time, I cannot get any confirmation. More often than not, nothing becomes of it and I feel foolish for thinking a guy “like that” would like a girl “like me.” To experience this over and over again is a humbling practice.

But recently, I experienced the opposite, and I want a written record of this to remind myself that perhaps my intuition has been spot on more often than I thought.

When I went out on Friday night, I mentioned that I ran into a group of people I used to hang out with in first year. I never considered them to be my friends, but back in the day, we always seemed to be at the same parties. One of them, CG, used to live in my residence and was always very friendly. He was cute and we got along really well; I thought maybe he had a crush on me, but then I found out he had a girlfriend. I decided that he was just someone who was (naturally) overly friendly, but that he never actually liked me. I ran into CG two or three times since first-year, and he exhibited the same over-enthusiasm, which only confirmed my suspicions that this was the way he was. However, when he showed up at the club on Friday, he did not leave my side all night. Even DG noticed, but I kept telling her it didn’t mean anything. So, to prove to me that he really was interested, DG asked CG to buy us drinks. CG does not frequent bars and is not a big spender, but after looking over in my direction, he bought all of my friends and I drinks. He was a typical frugal Asian boy – he didn’t even buy himself a drink – but it looked like he was trying to impress me. I refused to be impressed and walked away, hissing to DG that she was not allowed to take advantage of him like that. “It only worked because of you,” she hissed right back.
For the rest of the night, CG continued to dance by my side, taking every opportunity to hold my hand or dance alone with me. He was all over me, not in a drunk, aggressive kind of way, but in a “Is this my chance?” kind of way. It almost felt like he was relieved to have run into me again. I smiled to myself, even though I was no longer interested in him. All I could think was, “I was right! Back in the day, when I thought he might be interested in me, it wasn’t just my imagination. I was right! I was right!”
When he tried to talk to me at the end of the night, I already knew that he wanted. Before he could ask me about my relationship status, I cut him off. “It was nice seeing you again,” was all I said, and left.

The affirmation that my instincts were right came way too late, but that is not the point. The point is that my instincts were right, and from now on, I should not so carelessly dismiss myself just because someone’s actions does not match what I think. As I’ve already said, boys do not make sense, but that does not mean I should feel foolish. Instead, they are the ones to feel foolish, because I was right.

1. Maybe I am super sensitive, but I always notice when a guy makes physical contact, however casual.

I don’t make it a point to “celebrate” Valentine’s Day. However, in the past, it was the anniversary of MFL and I, so it was always announced with suitable fanfare. Even after I broke up with MFL, Valentine’s Day has never gone unnoticed (despite my feeble protests). I have always received attention from a gentleman on Valentine’s Day, short-lived as some of those attentions were.

This year was the first Valentine’s Day where I received nothing. No phone calls, no roses, no chocolates – not even a heart-shaped card.

You’d think I’d be disappointed, since one of my New Year resolutions was to spend this Valentine’s Day with someone I was actually interested in. And I am – a little disappointed – now that I think about it.

But I didn’t even notice.

This year’s Valentine’s Day coincided with Chinese New Year, which is a much more important event to me than Valentine’s Day. I was so concentrated on Chinese New Year festivities that I completely forgot about Valentine’s Day. All the better, it seems, considering the circumstances.

Instead, I celebrated Chinese New Year with an abundance of good food and good cheer.

I may have missed Valentine’s Day, but I don’t miss it.

My friend met this guy at the bar one night, and they really hit it off. They talked into early morning, and even had breakfast together. He told her that he couldn’t wait to see her again. She didn’t take it seriously, but gave him her number anyway. Over the next two weeks, he was texting her all day and calling her before bed every night. They saw each other a few more times and it seemed like he was crazy about her. Then, one night, he asks her to meet him at the bar. When she arrives, he was already there, grinding another girl.
In her words, “I couldn’t believe it. Not only was I confused since he had asked me to meet him there, but the girl he was grinding was totally ugly!”
I tried to decipher the cryptic behaviour, but could only conclude that the guy was a dumbass. I mean, even if he was out grinding other girls on the nights that they weren’t together, why invite her out to witness the event? He knew she was coming to meet him, did he want to get caught? Perhaps that was his way of telling her she didn’t mean that much to him.

—

Proof #2

When TDH singled me out on Friday night, all of our friends were there, dancing in a circle around us (literally, facing us). He seemed not to care, which is pretty bold for an Asian guy. Although I expected my friends to feel awkward about watching us grind, I later learned of another reason. Apparently, he had a girlfriend, who they were all close friends with (I knew of her as well, but I didn’t know they were going out), and the only reason she wasn’t there that night was because she was sick. How do you explain that?

—

Proof #3

For the first time in weeks, PLB said more than two words to me. What for? To invite me as his date to his friend’s wedding.
Are you kidding me?
You were the one who was all over me, forcing me to make plans with you on a night when I already had plans. You were the one who then unceremoniously blew me off with a lame excuse. If you were trying to make a point that you didn’t want to date me, that’s your prerogative and you made your point loud and clear. Fine, that’s fine. And then you invite me to your birthday party of close friends, none of whom are friends of mine. But that was a Facebook invite, so I ignored it. Now you’re telling me that, according to the Valentine’s Day questionnaire we filled out a month ago¹, I am your match, and therefore, I must be your date to your friend’s wedding?
I have two words for you: Not happening.
It turns out the acronym I gave him, “Preordained Lover” is a curse. Well, at this point, I don’t care how many signs there are that we are meant to be together, I don’t care if the hands of Fate herself reach out from an other-worldly portal to push us together, it is Not. Happening.

1. A fundraiser at our school for Haiti, you have to pay to get your results.

…

“I got a feeling that tonight’s gonna be a good night
That tonight’s gonna be a good night
That tonight’s gonna be a good, good night”
DG and I are now in the middle of the dance floor, shaking and moving to the rhythm. We both have huge grins on our faces, drunk and happy. We sing along to this familiar song, knowing they’ll ring true tonight.

…

She grabs my hand and pulls me up to the platform. We dance around each other, as if we’re the only two people in the club. I’m oblivious to the two guys coming up behind us. Before I know it, she’s pulling me off the platform and pushing through the crowd. I look behind me just before we disappear into the crowd, the guys are looking embarrassed and their friends are laughing.

…

We laugh as we run away, returning to our spot in the middle of the dance floor. After a few minutes, I see a guy trying to dance with her from behind, so I put my hand around her shoulders and spin her to a different position. She sees a guy coming up behind me, and spins me away as well. Both guys leave feeling confused and rejected. We laugh. Tonight was going to be about just us girls.

…

On the way out of the bathroom, we run into a friend of mine, who had just arrived with some other people I partied with in first-year. We start dancing with them, our dancing duo now turning into a trio. The third girl, MG, spots a recently vacated stripper pole and points to it. I shrug my shoulders and we get up there, knowing that the rest of our friends are watching us. But when Lady Gaga comes on, all is forgotten and we just dance.

“I want your love and I want your revenge, you and me could write a bad romance.”

…

The three of us are dancing in the middle of a circle that our friends have formed around us. I feel a hand on my waist and a solid chest against my back, the faint smell of aftershave hovering above me. I throw my arm up in the middle of the song and accidentally hit the side of his head. “Sorry!” I gasp, as I turn around. I look up to see a tall Asian boy, one of MG’s friends that I’d met once. I remember him to be good-looking, but tonight he is smoldering hot. DG winks at me and moves away with MG. TDH places his hand firmly on the small of my back and I melt into him, our bodies moving in sync to the music.

…

DG and I are waiting in-line at coat check, our faces gleaming with perspiration.
“Tonight was awesome,” DG says emphatically, her eyes shining. “This was the best clubbing night I’ve ever had!”
My expression mirrors hers as I nod. “Yeah, this was amazing. Girls night out at its best. I danced so much!”
“And did you see who you were dancing with? For an Asian guy, he was hot!”
I giggle, “I know, I couldn’t believe it when I turned around and it was him. Especially because we were dancing with all our friends, I didn’t think he would single me out.”
“That’s what makes it even hotter,” DG says with a twinkle in her eye.
As we exit the club, I say to no one in particular, “Tonight was a good, good night.” And I mean it.

I seem to amaze people, although I am at a loss for why. Maybe they just don’t see it coming – you know, innocent little me, planning to have boytoys in every major city in Asia? Or any other scheme I come up with, really.

Later that day…

“Let’s meet in the morning on Sunday and spend as long as we need to to get through these cases.”
“9am?” Someone suggested. “That’s when we normally have class anyway.”
“I don’t think I can make it for 9. How about 10?” I piped up.
“Why? Do you have plans in the morning?”
“Well… sort of,” I said sheepishly. My teammates looked at me, waiting for me to continue. Finally, I said, “I have to make breakfast. You know, weekend breakfasts are pretty elaborate, they take time.”
Everyone burst into laughter. Then, when they realized I was being serious, they stared at me incredulously. “Your plans… are to make breakfast?”
“Well, normally I can eat breakfast on the go. But on weekends, I usually make a big breakfast – you know, scrambled eggs, pancakes… it takes time.”
Now they were looking at me like I was an alien. What? Was I so crazy to want to make myself a good breakfast once a week?
GSB finally chuckled and shook his head. “You are…” he trailed off, at a loss for words.
As the rest of my group begrudgingly agreed to meet at 10, I smiled smugly. Maybe I was “something” but I was going to have a big yummy breakfast on Sunday morning, and that’s all that mattered.

I had a conference in The City the last few days. In order not to miss class, I went to an 8:00AM class on Thursday morning, then got on the train for The City. On the train, I ran into a classmate who was also heading into The City for interviews (it’s summer recruiting season for him). I had wanted to sleep on the train, but no luck. Instead, he spent two hours running his mouth off about all the interviews he had¹. When I got off the train, I wanted to take a taxi to the hotel, because I didn’t want to walk the two blocks with my luggage. Yeah, I was tired and lazy. But the taxi driver wouldn’t take me! He said it was too close, I should just walk. So he literally dumped me on the sidewalk.

By the time I arrived at the hotel, the cocktail reception had already started. I checked into my room to realize that I had roommates. Three roommates, no less. Was this a joke?
When I realized the conference organizers weren’t joking, that I was expected to share a bed with a complete stranger, I was not amused. Two of my roommates were in first year, and my bed-mate was in fourth year. They were all from the commerce program of The Other University.
I quickly staked my claim by unpacking my stuff over as much area as possible (their shit seemed to have exploded all over the hotel room and bathroom counter – although I should have expected that when I realized there were going to be four girls sharing one very small bathroom), and changed into a business casual dress for the reception.

At the reception, I realized that of the 100 delegates, about 15 were external delegates (including myself). That means that only 15 people were from another university, and the rest of the 85 people were from The Other University. The Other University and The Business School are rivals, so I tried to avoid the question, “So what school are you from?” lest the mob descend on me on the first night.
It got worse. I also realized that most of the delegates were first and second year students. I was probably one of four upper-year students.
Let me explain the gravity of the situation. I was in enemy territory, surrounded by nearly 100 people who did not go to my school and did not like my school. I was also surrounded by nearly 100 people who were barely of age and were running around asking for fake IDs so they could go to the evening bar festivities. They were so naive that they had no idea what the difference between finance, accounting, and consulting were, and was under the delusion that they could get a career in any industry they wanted. I wanted to strangle them.
Suffice to say, this was not my scene.

So I didn’t know anyone. And could barely hold a conversation with anyone (without wanting to strangle them, that is). But there was an open bar, good food, etc. So I inhaled every plate they served during dinner and drank too much wine. There was a keynote speaker after dinner, some important know-it-all from An Investment Bank, trying to influence the impressionable minds in the room that investment banking was the true, and only, definition of success. During the keynote speech, I texted WAF: “Get me out of here.” So we made plans to meet up after I was done.

While everyone else was getting ready to go to some pub, I started putting on a glittery top and a sequin skirt. I was clearly over-dressing, so my roommates asked me what I was doing. “I’m meeting a friend of mine at a lounge,” I replied.
“You’re not going to the pub?”
“No, I don’t drink beer.”
My roommates seemed confused that I wouldn’t want to participate in the conference’s event, but how could I explain to them that I didn’t see myself having fun with first-years who were engaging in underage drinking and were probably going to go crazy because, let’s face it, this was probably their first staying-in-a-hotel drinking opportunity? My two first-year roommates had invited all of their first-year friends into our hotel room and were passing around a 60 Litre bottle of vodka. Point proven.
I hurriedly got out of there and hoped that I wouldn’t return to a pile of vomit in our hotel room that night.

WAF and I ended up at a post-modern sushi lounge in the Financial District. It was filled with suits from the nearby banks. At one point, a 60-year-old man with a head of white hair and an expensive suit tried to give both of us a hug and invite us to drink with him. We quickly declined².

When I returned to the hotel room, my roommates were already back and asleep. I checked around quickly for vomit, and finding none, passed out on my side of the bed.

Friday was a packed day filled with keynote speakers and workshops. To give the conference organizers some credit, the keynote speakers were all extremely entertaining and knowledgeable. I learned more about international business and the global market in the last three days than I have in my entire academic career so far. Dinner was at an Irish pub hosted by A Consulting Firm (not the one I’m going to be working for), and surprisingly, the food was fantastic. Possibly the best Western food I’ve ever had. Dinner conversation was with a cute private-school boy who was in his third-year at The Other University and considering offers from several consulting firms.
That night, once again, I skipped out on the conference’s evening festivity and went clubbing with WAF. The club we went to had great music, but the crowd that night was very Euro trash, so we danced to our hearts content with each other and called it a night.

Saturday was dedicated to a case competition. Since I do cases every day, three times a day, at The Business School, this was a piece of cake for me. But The Other University does not teach with cases, so everyone else struggled to analyze the given case in the 3.5 hour time frame. My assigned team had the same trouble, but luckily, they listened to my wisdom (for the most part), and – long story short – we won first place in the case competition.

Since the final presentation was in front of the entire delegation, I received a lot of attention for my presentation skills. After dinner, two boys came up to talk to me. The first was one of the original founders of the conference, a fourth year from The Other University who was going to work for An Investment Bank in New York City. The other, also a fourth year from The Other University, was a Korean boy who was going to work for Another Investment Bank in Tokyo, Japan. Both were very eligible bachelors, at least according to the criteria of: Asian, smart, and potential wealth.

Saturday night, the conference had organized a semi-formal event at a club. Since I had never seen the club, I decided to go with them that night. I pre-drank with a few girls of my fourth-year roommate, who luckily did not make me want to kill somebody (or maybe it was the amount of alcohol I consumed that dulled the killing urge). By the time we got to the club, I was spectacularly drunk³, and ended up dancing with The Korean I-Banker. We spent most of the night together, although I left early because I was dead-tired.

Somehow, I was not hungover on Sunday. It helped that I had some greasy food before bed the night before, and of course, pigged out during breakfast to “re-nourish” my body. The conference finally ended at noon. My parents drove down to meet me for lunch, and after a quick trip to the grocery store for some veggies, drove me back to University Town.

And on Sunday night, I slept 12 hours, to make up for the lack of sleep during the conference. It was kind of amazing.

If you didn’t bother reading all that, the important things to note are:

• I did not mention PLB once. That is because, as of last Tuesday, I gave up on him. In a nutshell, he was playing mind-games and I was not having it.
• I won a case competition! I wouldn’t have had a chance in hell at The Business School, but going up against The Other University was a piece of cake. And of course, it made me feel really smart.
• I hooked up⁴ with a future investment banker in Japan. I don’t know if I will ever run into him in Asia, but it’s nice to know there’s a possibility. Plus, he’s Korean. I don’t know what it is with me and Koreans. It must be fate.
• I realized I am only attracted to ambitious (but not arrogant) boys. WAF had always said that she was only interested in boys who were going to be as successful, if not more successful, than her. I didn’t agree at first, but after this weekend, I think that is true for me too, whether I like it or not.
• Good food and open bar can cheer me up in any situation.
• I’m exhausted, it is Monday, and I have a very packed week ahead of me. TGFC (Thank God For Coffee).

How was your weekend?

1. He had literally gotten every single interview. He had second rounds from every single investment bank as well as the top three consulting firms. This kid was impressive.
2. Although some of the other female associates there were enjoying all the male attention. Many of them had more than one guy fawning over her.
3. As always, no one could tell because I don’t know how to be a sloppy drunk even if I wanted to be one.
4. Like I always remind my readers, my definition of hooking up does not involve sex.

“SG, will you be a surrogate for me?” OBF asked me.
Somehow, we had started talking about surrogacy, which is defined by Wikipedia as: “a method of reproduction whereby a woman agrees to become pregnant and deliver a child for a contracted party.” It is important to note, however, that (at least in Canada), it is against the law to compensate (in monetary or other terms) a surrogate mother. That is to reduce potential abuse of someone offering a large sum of money for someone else to be a surrogate. So, in Canada, you would have to volunteer to be a surrogate without receiving anything in return. My friends were debating whether that was fair, given that you would have to be either incredibly nice or incredibly empathetic or both to volunteer to carry someone’s baby for nine months and risk complications related to pregnancy and giving birth.

I was not actively participating in this discussion when OBF suddenly turned to me and asked, “If MS and I can’t conceive, would you be willing to be our surrogate?”

I spat out my drink and laughed. Then, when I realized she was asking in earnest, I practically shouted, “Um, NO! I don’t even want to carry my own baby, why would I want to carry someone else’s?!”
Her eyes widened. There was suddenly silence around the table as everyone’s face matched hers. Wait, did I say something wrong? Did they honestly think I was going to say, “Yes! Please let me be your baby incubator!”?

“Really?” She asked disbelieving, as if I would change my mind on second thought. “If there was something wrong with my uterus, you wouldn’t have my baby?” Her eyes were so wide I thought they were going to pop out of their sockets.
“Well…” I chuckled awkwardly, “I hope it doesn’t come to that. I mean, I hope you and MS are both healthy and fertile.” Then I added, “If you want to be.”
Still, no one said a word.
I looked around the table. If wanting a baby and being physically equipped to have one was the equation for happiness in their mind, I didn’t want to leave anyone out. So I extended my wish to everyone as an afterthought, “I hope you’re all fertile, if you want to be.”

It was awkward. Oh, it was awkward.

Luckily, someone started to chuckle and relieved me of the spotlight.

But seriously, pregnancy? Not on my list of things I have to experience in life, thankyouverymuch. Even if I wanted a baby, I would probably adopt. So why in the world would I volunteer to be someone else’s baby incubator, even if the couple in question were my oldest friends? There are a lot of things I am willing to do for my friends – hold their hair up when they’re throwing up, go along with their crazy plans to seduce an older/married/otherwise unavailable man, make comfort food for them when they’re sad, and even go skydiving if that’s what it takes to cheer them up – but I will not have their baby, no sirree.

What are your thoughts on surrogacy? Would you have your best friend’s baby if she asked you to?