Why is it that each time I visit the Midwest, the first question former grammar school classmates ask is, “Are you married yet?”
No questions about my life, work, or other activities. Even if they aren’t interested in other parts of my life, which ostensibly they aren’t, I would be happy to engage them in a conversation about my views and politics regarding marriage and children. But it never goes there. In fact, inquiring about my marital status is the first and last question they ask before they move on to other riveting topics: their kids.
I would love to ask, “Why haven’t you lost your pregnancy fat?” or “Why is your husband such a loser?” or “How can you sleep at night knowing you are contributing to the overpopulation of the world with your worthless progeny?”
But I don’t ask such things. I was raised with good Midwestern manners.
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