Two Good Things
July 11, 2004
So this past week I’ve been going around feeling mostly like…um…dirt. I mean, there was the whole “I’m a terrible mother who’s ruined her babies’ teeth” thing, and plus that one other thing. Eh.
Anyhow, this weekend I did two things that TURNED THE TIDE. First of all (and you should all know I’m embarrassed to admit this, because I come across as terribly shallow now, and I’m not – well, not REALLY), I bought a new purse.
I know - a purse. How pitiful is that as a rejuvenator? I mean, why don’t I trot down to the beauty shop and get my hair set in tight little curls, don a swishy skirt with crinolines underneath, powder my nose, and apply my new lipstick and call myself a new woman?
Except this purse. Even though it's awfully girly, I love this purse. It’s RED. It’s lovely and RED and it called to me from across the store. I showed it to my mom, who looked at me like I’d just declared my love for velvet Elvis paintings.
“Um…it’s red.” She said diplomatically.
“I know,” I gushed, “isn’t it BEAUTIFUL?”
She nodded politely, although I could tell she did not, in fact, think it was beautiful. My purse and I, we did not care. And it WAS my purse from the moment I picked it up. Oh, I tried. I tried to reel myself back it. Don’t give your heart away so quickly, I told myself. Plus, you are about twelve years and three kids too old for this purse. So I set my purse down, and moved around. I half-heartedly picked up other purses and looked at them.
But I always came back to my purse.
It was perfect.
And 60% off.
So, although I feel a little…out of my element…a little…risqué…a little…like I don’t own anything that matches it, I now have a red purse. It makes me happy. I carry it around and make people look at it and tell me how much they love it. Mom says I sound like a six year old, and I suspect she’s right.
But oh, I love that purse.
THE OTHER THING I did was go roller blading. DID I TELL YOU that I DO THAT? Well, I do. Um…I HAVE gone roller blading twice now. SO.
But I feel very cool, outfitted in my ‘blades and helmet and pads. The first time I went (sticklers could call that “the OTHER time”) I did not wear knee pads. I wore a helmet, in order to set a good example for my children who must wear their helmets because their brains still work and must remain unscrambled, thank you. And I wore wrist guards, because I RESPECT the wrist pain. I am DEFERENTIAL to wrist pain. I should always wear wrist guards.
But I did not wear knee pads, because…well…they look so stupid.
I know, a 33 year old stumbling along on roller blades THINKING she’s cool has already lost the fight against looking stupid. I know. But I just couldn’t bring myself to wear them.
You know where this is going, right? I found myself hurtling along; careening down an incline that was so scary I stopped breathing for just a minute. Not a good idea when you are exerting yourself beyond your accustomed cardiovascular level. Past the dancing spots of light before my eyes I saw the curve.
There was a wicked curve ahead, at the bottom of this hill I was flying down. I started breathing again, long enough to swear a bit, and fell. I scraped my knee up.
And although I even thought that was cool, and went around making people look at my knee, today I decided to wear the knee pads. They still look stupid, but my knees survived the experience. This can be attributed to the pads PLUS the fact that this time I was wise enough to bail out at the bottom of that hill, before the wicked curve, into the soft grass. It was sort of a pansy maneuver, but I didn’t hurt myself. I just don’t seem to have the balance to negotiate that turn.
Perhaps I should have left the purse at home.