D-14

Years ago, when Zach was in college, he was (shocking, I know) in a theater group. Each year, you'll be impressed to know, this particular group created an original musical comedy, performed it on campus, and then took it on a national tour over the winter break.

The tour traveled to various cities in which the alumni population could be counted on to a) buy tickets and b) house the undergrads who were involved in the production. It was run on a small budget, and everyone—performers included—was expected to pitch in on the less-than-glamorous backstage effort, from loading in the equipment to managing the props to striking the sets after the show.

College kids will be college kids, of course, and much of this backstage activity was accompanied by four-letter words and other offhand epithets uttered in the midst of the hectic communal effort to, quite literally, get the show on the road. But given the presence of the all-important alums, not to mention the occasional parent-of-a-kid-in-the-show, the proclivity toward profanity had to be, well, re-channeled.

So one year, the clever co-eds came up with a lexicon that translated nearly every possible show-related epithet into a neat, adult-friendly, and socially acceptable alphanumeric code. And every year after that (continuing to this day, I'm sure), the lexicon was one of the many things handed out to the group on the very first day on the tour bus.

I've never actually seen the lexicon, but I learned about it early on in my time with Zach. I must have complained about something, but I can't possibly remember what.

His response?

"D-14." (Or maybe, "D-14!")

My response?

"Huh?" (Proof that I am ever articulate.)

Then he said:

"D-14." (Or maybe, "D-14!!!")

Then I said the only thing possible:

"What the hell does D-14 mean???"

I got a full-on explanation, not only of D-14, but of the entire system. And as of that day, a good decade-plus ago, "D-14" has been part of our own private lexicon. (I actually don't know what any of the other codes are, but I think they go from A to F, with plenty of sub-parts for each lettered category. Zach assures me that the complete list is in one of the many boxes in our basement—no doubt labeled "Memorabilia," as so many are—but I haven't gone a-searching.)

So what does "D-14" mean, you ask?

It's pretty simple: "Suck it up and deal."

And why am I telling you about it now?

Because over the weekend I got it on good authority that there's absolutely nothing I can do to hasten the deflation of my abdomen. The carbon monoxide (not nitrous oxide—I was wrong) is going to dissipate in its own sweet time. And it's starting to, finally. I no longer look like my due date is just a few months off. (And don't think that the irony of looking pregnant immediately following the surgery that made it a physical impossibility to get that way has been lost on me.)

I'm still, well, aerated. Not to mention irritated.

But, as I said to Zach, it's basically a D-14 situtation.

Which means, of course, that it's no different from the rest of this whole experience.