Me:
Minus the curlers, apron, and rolling pin. Because there's been no baking and certainly no hairstyling in my house lately. Oh, also add a few pounds. And wipe the lipstick off too.... Turns out I've got nothing on this lady.
I've been a complete psycho wife lately. And I can't really say why. I think most of my general sourness is coming from the lack of fun I've been able to have over these past couple months. Right now Terd is so stressed out (he had 19 FIRST round interviews last week and is just scratching the surface of this forsaken process) that he has had not ONE MINUTE of extra time. Oh, and not ONE SMIDGE of personality left over to toss my eager-waiting-for-your-scraps-desperate-little-wife way. More than anything, I think being at the mercy of all these business school/company beyotches has left me feeling a little out of control.
When I was in 4th grade, my friends and I were enjoying one of many outings to Starlite Skating, a roller skating rink in my home town. Starlite Skating was THE place to be in elementary school... except it was the most delapitated, mangey skating rink imaginable. Complete with old, broken furniture and old record players stored under sheets at one end of the rink. Anyway, we all squealed and high-fived when the skating rink DJ (how can I land m'sefthat job) announced it was time for a "girls only" skate. The girls only skate brought me great pleasure... second only to the "snowball" skate where boys lined up on one side of the rink and skated over to take the hand of the girl they wanted to skate with until they were told to switch partners... For some reason, I always thought I looked extra desirable under the illumination of that snowball disco ball.
Anyway, the "girls only" skate was particularly invigorating because all the boys would have to leave the floor and hold their hands out for you to slap as you skated by. It was expected that you emphasize the smack of the hand of the boy you wished to seduce for the evening (locking in the first skate of the snowball) and that night I had set my sights on a boy just over a foot shorter than me, named *Taylor.
I remember it in slow motion... sailing around the curve of the rink past the furniture storage as I approached the line of boys. Hair blowing. The sound of my baggy jeans flapping behind me. I zoned in on Taylor's hand stretched out to me and envisioned the smooth, sexy slap I was going to give it. I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and practiced a post-slap wink, just to seal the deal. And then I went for it. And I winked. And instead of slapping, he squeezed my hand for a split second. And it disrupted the flow of my skating. And I lost my balance. And I proceeded to do the try-not-to-biff-arms-flailing-skates-stomping-spaz-out for 15 seconds straight.
Why even try to recover, Vanessa? Why not take a graceful spill and be done with it? Why not turn your fall into an EXTREMELY cool shoot-the-duck skate move? No no, your right, that spastic, near fall, skate stomp recover attempt was better.
And that's exactly how I've been feeling lately. Like I'm in a constant, near-fall, roller skating spaz attack.
My mom always tells me I have to "enjoy the process, not just the arrival." Thanks, mom. I'll remember that. In the mean time, **send some cash, attention, motivation, and happy drugs my way. Thanks.
*Taylor became one of my best friends and his family moved to Utah when we were in 6th grade. We lost touch for 10 years--later reconnecting when I discovered his family lives behind my in-laws in Alpine. During our first conversation as adults, much to my delight, he recounted our little skating incident.
**Mom, I fully recognize I live a charmed life and in no way need to be reminded of how much worse off some people are than me. Merely feeling stinky, and getting over it as I write. No need to alert the troops.
P.S. Is there anything hotter than roller skating?
A rare picture taken of Terd and me the night the Turkey Sub was conceived:
No comments:
Post a Comment