Alexis Larkin

INTRABODY MEMORANDUM

Introduction

Summer is coming! You are going to look fabulous in that canary sundress, and we are going to have so much fun at the beach. I’m sure we’ll also go to a bunch of BBQs and maybe that week at the lake if you can’t get out of it this year. That is my reason for writing.

I know there’s no better place for your family and friends to hide away and beat the heat than grabbing a cold brew and pulling up a seat in me – your rad uterus. Trust me, I get it. It’s great in here. And as Aunt Millie told you at Christmas, you’re not doing much with me anyway.

But I have to tell you, it’s getting a little crowded in here. I’m still trying to clear out your tax documents (way to go on the bank interest by the way) and there’s that Miss Marple Mystery Marathon we’re planning for August (I still think the living room makes more sense). When people start wandering in my direction, if you could try to move the conversation back out of your womb – I mean if it’s not too much trouble – that would be awesome. I’ve thought through a couple of scenarios to help (you’ve totally converted me to outlining!):

Problem/Solution

1. Complete strangers who ask about what comes out of your vagina
   1. I have had it with these people. I don’t know if they’re uncomfortable and don’t know what to say, and this is their knee-jerk reaction to anyone in her 30s who isn’t wearing a nursing bra, but I really don’t care.
   2. My Proposal? The Conversation Ender. The next time we’re in the grill line and someone asks when I’m going to make some space for a fetus, please try: I am waiting for my Lord Satan to tell me it is time to bring forth the Spawn. Who would respond to that? Plus it may get us to cheeseburger faster.
2. Mom
   1. This is the woman who has been talking to people in checkout lines about your “heavy flow” for 20 years. A little Dark Prince quip is not going to shut her down. Don’t bother saying you don’t know if you want a baby. Your sister tried that, and Mom told her she didn’t know what she wanted, of course she wanted a baby, and the conversation moved quickly to “cervical mucus.” Letting her in on your fertility issues would be a mistake too. She may be comforting at first, but it will likely turn out she knows someone who knows someone whose cousin went to a retreat in the Adirondacks and then her husband just looked at her and she was pregnant. And by all means don’t tell her you’re trying, that will only move the conversation further up here. I would not be surprised if she set up some sort of management desk in the left fallopian tube.
   2. My Proposal? The Throw Back. It’s probably too harsh, but she is a force to be reckoned with: Why? So I can make the baby as miserable as you made me? Just make sure you slur the words and have a whiskey in your hand so she can blame it on the drink. I’m pretty sure that’s how Dad has gotten out of most arguments for the last decade.
3. Old friends who just had a baby
   1. I thought about leaving your friends off because there is really nothing to stop them from thinking anyone without a baby is leading a barren, meaningless existence even though it was their lot last summer. Remember when you guys would all get together, laugh all night, and talk about the big questions in life? They don’t.
   2. My Proposal? The False Flatter. Turn the conversation to their kid, that’s really what they want to talk about anyway: Why would I try? You’ve already had the perfect baby. Look at that. Did he vomit on your shirt in the shape of the Virgin Mary? Smart and devout. Either way, they’ll need to leave soon to get back to the sitter.

Conclusion

Please try for me; it would mean a lot. I’ll keep working my proposals and get you some “zingers.” I’ll also get the endometrium in order just in case. God, I hope Aunt Millie doesn’t wear heels again.

Alexis Larkin lives and writes in northern New Jersey. Her uterus prefers Malibu. Alexis’s poetry has been selected for publication in The Barnstormer, Fat City Review, and Pea River Journal.