In Which a Super Virgin is Not a Real Thing
I pinky promise that I’ve been knitting. And I pinky promise that as soon as I can put myself, my camera-wielding father, and a day that doesn’t involve a thunderstorm, all in the same general vicinity, I will show you what I’ve been knitting.
I decided that I really needed to finish up several projects before I started anything new, so as not to get overwhelmed. I used to be a one-project-at-a-time kind of girl, but that fell by the wayside when I started college in Boston and found a yarn store that stocked Malabrigo. You know how it is.
I gathered all of the projects that I left for dead a long time ago (well, most of them; some of them just can’t be saved), and used a four-day stretch where I had to have surgery and couldn’t go to work (which, for the record, accounts for, like, 92% of my time) to crank them out. Two of them are done and blocked, and the others are pretty damn close to binding off.
The surgery I had to have was minor, and didn’t even result in a cool scar. I really love scars because they have stories behind them. Even if it’s something silly like, “this is where I walked into a door when I was eight,” or “this is where I scratched my chicken pox even though my mother told me not to.” But any scars that I have aren’t worth commenting on, because I tend to scar even if I just get a scratch, and for the most part I can’t even remember where I got them. So I figured that if I had to have surgery anyway, at least I’d get a big scar out of it.
But, alas, my doctor is good at what she does, and I have a small, thin mark that she said will go away in the next few years. I’m going to pretend that I’m not disappointed.
The surgery was not totally without event, though, as I accidentally told the nurse that I was a super virgin.
In case you were wondering, a super virgin is not a thing. There is no comic book hero named Super Virgin. And it is certainly not a thing that one should say to a medical professional. The conversation went something like this:
Nurse: Is there any chance you could be pregnant?
Nurse: But how do we know that?
Me: Because I’m, like, a super virgin.
It’s possible she wasn’t as condescending as I thought, but they wouldn’t let me drink coffee or eat, so I wasn’t in a particularly good mood. And it wasn’t a lie. I’m a good little Catholic girl. But a super virgin is not a thing.