I want to be a veterinarian.
I want to be a veterinarian specializing in large animals.
I want to be a vet specializing in large animals, with an emphasis on equines.
I want to be an equine vet who specializes in reproduction.
I want to be an equine vet specializing in the comprehensive service of assisted equine reproduction, specifically artificial insemination as a viable alternative to natural breeding.
Why do I want this?
I want to do this because the longer I am married to The Bean, the more it becomes apparent that I have married someone who enjoys the finer things in life. I have married someone who likes nice suits and black tie affairs. He likes expensive liquor, and fine cigars, and formal business transactions. I have married someone who enjoys the smooth sound of a 7 series BMW, who likes the idea of getting into local politics, who enjoys expensive dinners where the meat is served with sides of nearly unpronounceable french-sounding sauces.
I have married a classy man.
I want to be an equine vet who specializes in AI, because one day The Bean will let down his guard and bring home some equally classy business associates.
Knowing how important this meeting is to him, I will have taken a day off of work and spent all day preparing. The house will be perfect, as will I. The Bean will usher them in to the front door (which might even be a foyer at that point), and I will glide forward to meet them. I will be by his side, well-dressed in an elegant black dress, features accentuated with tastefully applied makeup, hair pulled back in a smooth chignon. I will murmur all the right things in a quiet tone, welcoming them to our home, taking them past the elegant wall hangings and gleaming wood floors as we go down the hallway.
Together we will enter the dining room.
“Oh!” I’ll say as we enter the room, raising a well-manicured, horrified hand to cover my mouth in astonished embarrassment. “Oh, heavens!”
I will rush forward, my heels making a smooth clicking sound against the floor as I gather the large cylinder from the corner of the table.
“I do apologize. Please forgive me, I really thought I had put away earlier. This is so embarrassing. “
I’ll hug the object in my arms and give a self-deprecating laugh. “Murphy’s law, right? Don’t you just hate it when you accidentally leave a giant artificial horse vagina out on the table when company comes over? I am so sorry.”
I’ll stride to the doorway, dress rustling against my legs as I sweep past them with my arms wrapped around the smooth cylinder. As I pass by them, I’ll collect myself and turn, completely poised. “Please forgive me gentlemen. I am neglecting my hostess duties. After I put this away back in the closet I’d be happy to bring you some wine. Red or white?”