At some point or another, we all find ourselves in between boxes—either literally or figuratively, or both.  For example, in filling out the GRE form, there are only 10 bubbles for the letters of your first name.  Thus, my name, as far as the GRE people are concerned is Zimbler, Mattitiyah.  And they don’t care in that “you are only a number to us as we make you pay us big $$$ to take a test that has no predictive quality and is merely yet another revenue stream in our academic ponzi scheme.”  I’m looking at you GRE psychology subject test.  Outside the box.  Outside the culture.

I’ve always somewhat prided myself on my ability to figure out the boundaries of any given box and slowly to apply pressure to said boundaries.  I pierced my tongue (and then went to teach Japanese elementary students with it in).  My point is that I bring a lot of it on myself.

Recently I have found myself between boxes in a new way.  You go to the doctor or tax form, or university document, and it asks you to check one:

Single

Married

Separated

Admiral Akbar says: It’s a trap!!!!!

I am not married.  I know this because no one has put a ring on me.  My bare fingers announce my non-marriedness.  Also, no ketubah.  No ceremony.  No dancing.  No I dos.  I think you get the picture.

I am not single.  If you don’t believe me, I’ll have YOU tell that to mmf.  See how that works out for you.  Wear a cup.  And beyond that, it’s difficult to say, after having this woman in multiple hospitals with me, that I am unconnected in the way that the single box is asking me to designate.

Which means, by process of elimination that I must be separated, or more accurately, separate.  I am, briefly and without my doing, firmly between boxes.  I am “other.”  (“I am legend” was already taken.)

*End of the post tangent:

One of mmf’s college friends visited us last night and she told us a story of a dinner conversation game, played with her parents and godparents.  The game is you substitute one of the words from the title of a movie with the word “vagina.”   As in, “the vagina whisperer”  “the lord of the vagina”  “vagina: resurrection.”  Mmf’s initial reaction to the game was, “and then what happens.”  Nothing.  It turns out that that is all you need.  I swear.  Get three people, and try it.  Endless fun and laughs. 

*end transmission.