Story Time: Vickery Cafe And The Demise Of Society

Not that simple, but also not that complicated.

I sometimes go to breakfast on Sunday mornings with about 10–12 people from my neighborhood. Periodically I go to church instead, although I think I’ve felt less and less positive about church over my generalized infertility journey, because so much of a “church community” is really just about honoring Fertile Franny and Virile Victor in hopes that you just hooked them into 20 more years of having to give you money. Oh shit, did I say the quiet part out loud? Ooops.

Does Infertility Make You Lose Faith In, Say, God?

So, one morning I go to breakfast over at a place in Fort Worth called Vickery Cafe. A table over from us, I see a family of four sitting down. I grew up very privileged and don’t love privilege as a concept (deep emotional stuff going on there), so instantly the first thing I notice is that the father is wearing a Fort Worth Country Day polo. That’s a fancy private school. Again, I went to fancy private school and I know it’s a bed of roses with more than a few pricks. I’m observing this family as I scan the menu.