Dumpling Skins and the Rigor Mortis Game

Or, a day in the life.

I love how my life is just so random and unexpected.  I genuinely enjoy weirdness.  The other night I was making potstickers because I hadn’t made them in awhile.  If there’s one thing I can thank my parents for, it’s how to make dumpling sauce.  Soy sauce and rice vinegar, maybe some sesame oil and a leetle bit of sugar.  Rowan loves them–but only the skins.  Doesn’t want any fillings, just dumpling skins dipped in dumpling sauce.  And now Nova is doing it too, probably because she copies what her sister does.  So they methodically went through all the dumplings, squeezed out the fillings, and ate the skins until no more were left.  Crazy kids.

Afterwards, Rowan and I were play wrestling, like we often do.  I was hugging her and she was hitting me and struggling to get away.

“You’re dead,” she told me.

“Yep.”

“So you have to let go of me now.”

“No,” I giggled, “I’m in rigor mortis now.  You can’t undo my hug, because I’m dead. Even in death, I hug you.”

“What?” she asked, “What’s rigor mortis?”

So I told her.  Half an hour later, I’m walking to the bathroom and walk by the bedroom, where Rowan is hugging Nova solidly without moving.  Nova was trying to get away, and I hear Rowan say, “Nova!  It’s the rigor mortis game.  You can’t get out of my hug. I’m dead.”

I wonder sometimes when the school is going to call me.

Later on, after we read stories and turned off the light, I cuddled them in the dark for awhile.  Rowan and I will have great conversations.  We were talking about humans and attractiveness.  How is something we distinguish among ourselves, and if an alien species came to earth, we’d all look kind of the same to them.  I told her that I’m not sure if I’ve ever met anyone I would really consider ugly.  We’re all sort of humanish.  Granted, there are markers for reproductive health, such as symmetry of the face and hip to waist ratio.  But usually what we consider “ugly” is just deviation from what we expect, and what we consider as “beauty” is an average.  There are disfigurements, such as burns or scars – but that mostly makes me sad because it is physical evidence of suffering.  It’s not ugliness.

“In any case,” I told her, “I have a hypothesis that the average human today is more attractive than an average human of 500 years ago.”

“What’s a hypothesis?” Rowan asked. “Is that like a theory?”

“A bit,” I said.  “It’s a baby theory.  I don’t have any data to support my conclusions.  If I did, then it would be a theory.”

“So why do you think humans are more beautiful now?” she asked.

“Because first, we eat better food and have better nutrition.  We eat better than medieval kings and queens did.  Second, we have better skin and have medicine for things like acne.  There aren’t a lot of people with things like smallpox scarring anymore.  And we have better teeth.  We brush our teeth and know more about dental hygiene.   So, we’re getting better looking, generally, as we get healthier.”

She finally got to sleep and I was thinking about Charlemagne.  He was supposed to be extremely tall, at 6 feet. I remember as a kid being really confused about that, because my dad was practically six feet, and he didn’t seem abnormally tall or anything.  What a difference 1,200 years makes.  If I went back in time, I would be giantess.

And then, despite all that, I dreamed about work.

Author: ~R

I write about life, people, and the things that interest in me. Which often includes death, sex, friendship, and the future of humanity. I hope for the best in people and I prepare for the worst. But no matter what happens, change is constant and everything will be ok.

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