“Yes, Barbara, you can sign me up for your newsletter…”

I recently tried to take on the task of finding a vacation destination for my family.  This is a job my husband usually fulfills but because the trip was to include my whole side of the family, I felt I should carry the responsibility.  I logged on and tried finding vacation homes and hotels that could accomodate all of us for a week.  There was one hotel in particular that looked very nice online.  I was having a hard time finding out room rates so I had to call to get more information.  The receptionist was extremely nice.  And very helpful.  And with rates at $845 a night per couple, she sure as heck should have been!  I was floored at this price.  But I still felt the need to play it cool.

And that, my friends, is the point.  Why do we feel it necessary to pretend our mouths are not left open at the complete shock of hearing things like this?  Whether it’s the price of a hotel, jewelry we are looking into buying or even a new washer/dryer set.  When someone tells us a price we cannot understand anyone in their right mind paying, why do we feel the need to “play it off”?   I don’t think that we need to curse out a receptionist and tell her where she can stick her $845 a night fee.  Or take that pretty bracelet and shove it down the jeweler’s throat.  But we could easily say something like: “Whoa!  Wow.  I wasn’t expecting that.  I am looking for something a tad bit cheaper.”  And perhaps ask if they have a place they could recommend.  Sounds good, doesn’t it?  But no, we don’t do that.  I think part of all of this is that we know the person on the other end of the phone has no idea who we are.  So we can pretend to be whomever we want.  “$845 you say? Oh that’s a great price compared to what we paid last year in Aspen!” is how we might decide to respond.  Or we’ll keep asking more and more questions to pretend we are actually thinking of still paying such a price.  “Do you have a swimming pool?”  “Is your hotel kid-friendly?” “Do you serve a continental breakfast?” “Can I request a late check-out?” 

The fact that these persons have no idea as to who we are should allow us to just be ourselves.  But it doesn’t.  We should have no fear to let them know that we have lost interest in their item because of the price.  But we do.  We should not be embarrassed to ask if they give discounts to AAA members.  But we are.  So at the end of the conversation, when they ask if we want to go on and book the dates in question we have to connive our way out of the situation.  “Oh no.  I can’t book this without my husband’s consent.  Let me talk it over with him first.”  “Well, this is the first jewelry store I’ve been to.  I’d like to shop around a little more first.”

I have fallen victim to this so many times I’m unable to tell you.  So when the receptionist asked me if she could get my email to send out upcoming events and specials of the hotel, I didn’t have it in me to tell her that no discount would ever be enough to get me to stay there.  “Sure.”  I said.  “Please send me more information.”  And I may have added an: “I’d love that.” on the end.

Why are we wooed by the wiles of the voices coming from our telephones?  How is it that we get spellbound by the three-minute conversation we have with an operator and suddenly decide that they are our friend–and we don’t want to disappoint them?

I say all this but I cannot guarantee that I will man up the next time I’m asked if I want to be on the calling list to receive updates on the migration patterns of geese in our area.  I think my mailbox will continue to be barraged with newsletters and bulletins from every company’s secretary that I talk with.  But maybe I’ll start sharing them and start to forward them to all of you…;-) jk


Dress to Impress

A good friend of mine (an older gentleman) once told me: “Women don’t dress to impress men, they dress to impress other women.”  My first thought was to debate this comment.  But after a brief moment, I realized what he was saying was true.  I attest some of this to the fact that men (husbands, boyfriends, brothers, close male friends) are so pathetic and lame when it comes to complimenting us women on our new shoes or the fire-red dye highlighting our hair.  I won’t spend time on that right here and now.  Perhaps I’ll talk more on that in a separate blog.  But they either don’t notice or care to comment when we look appealing and perhaps exceptionally dapper one evening.  However, take those same shoes and that same day you colored your hair, and you will possibly get compliments from women as they pass by.  I too am one to blatanly walk up to some woman I have never seen before and earnestly tell her how much I love her purse.  Or ask where she got those sexy shoes she’s wearing.  I’m not shy to tell a woman the jeans she’s wearing fit her really nice.  (stopping short of telling her that her @$$ looks great in them!) I think it may be because we as women know what it’s like to find items that make us feel good or to help us feel hot and sexy.  So we are quicker to let a fellow comrade know that we agree and approve of their decision for that shoe or that fire engine hair color.

But I feel I am going a little wayward of what it is I really want to discuss here.  I actually want to talk  more on what my friend mentioned a few years ago to me.  The statement quoted above.  I couldn’t argue with him because I immediately knew who it was that I dressed for.  And no, it was not (is not) my husband.

I grew up with a friend that I will call Bonnie.  I’ll spare you the history of our relationship and just let you know that we used to shop for clothes together.  There were no jealousy issues of any kind.  We were completely honest with each other of how we felt the other looked in an outfit.  And we would go to great lengths to help the other find that perfect pair of jeans and even the shirt that would accent the breastline just right.  We would annoy sales clerks asking if we could use the same dressing room so that we wouldn’t have to waste time while trying on outfits.  Even if not together, we would look out for each other–knowing what the other was in need of in their wardrobe.  I could get a call at any time with Bonnie telling me she found a shirt that would match that green skirt that’s been in my closet for two months waiting for a mate.  We didn’t even care if we both liked the same outfit.  We would both just get it.  Surprisingly wear it to the same function?  Sure!  Who cared!  We were like that.  If it looked good on both of us, then we couldn’t outshine each other.  It was that simple.

Explaining all of that lets you know that Bonnie was who I dressed for at that time.  For years even. Her and I were a great team.  I still think of how we were truly there for each other in the stressful world of retail.

But I got married one year with her getting married the very next.  I moved, she moved and we both just got busy with our new lives.  We still talk and are still good friends.  But as it goes, we grew apart.  I began to hang more with friends my husband introduced me to.  (Not on purpose.  It just sort of happened this way.)  Which now leads me to a friend I’ll call Alicia.

Alicia was different from Bonnie in many ways.  Her style was a lot more hip than what I was used to.  Her expense account was a little bigger than mine also.  When we would go shopping, we went off into separate sections of a store.  I’d be alone in a dressing room and would have to text her to see if she’d come and tell me her idea of what I was trying on.  She’d get in line at the checkout without me even seeing a glimpse of what she purchased.  If I asked where she got a certain shoe or skirt, she’d feign memory loss.  I guess in fear of me buying the same thing.  But still, even though this was completely different from what I was used to, I found myself slowly giving way to the style she portrayed.  I liked it.  It looked good.  And then, there I was, getting dressed for her!  Wondering if she would notice the way I accessorized my jewelry to match my shoes and purse.  I would think really hard about what I was going to wear before we went together anywhere.  I thought more of what she felt about my clothes than I felt about them myself. Although our shopping experience didn’t copy what I was used to, she would give me her advice and ideas on things when we were together.  She knew how to make me look like a trendy million bucks.  (It was at this time that my friend made the comment to me about women dressing for women.  And it was Alicia that came to my mind.)

Sadly, Alicia and her husband are no longer together.  It’s classic in these cases that the friends split like the couple who decided not to stay together.  So my husband and I are friends of Him.  Not Her.  (Again, not on purpose.  It just happened this way.)

So what do I wear now?  Sweatpants and old EMS sweatshirts from my husbands fireman friend.  When I’m at a store trying on jeans or a cute coat (Is it cute?  I’m really not sure without someone there with me to testify.) I feel as though I have no idea if what I’ve picked out is alright.  But alright for who?  It may be okay to me.  But, who gets dressed for themselves?  That’s so boring!!  It’s not the same to walk away from a mirror saying : “I look nice tonight”, knowing your husband won’t even notice you bought new boots and skinny jeans.  How much better it is when you have that girlfriend to assure you that yes, those boots are perfect  and your are “rocking” those jeans!  Right now I go shopping with my three-year old.  She has no influence yet on what I buy.  But will she be the next woman I dress to impress?  She just might be! ha

I don’t say any of this to say I am having an identity crisis.  Just that I realize that his statement was more true than I would have realized without being told.  You ladies, think about it–who do you dress for?  Be honest and let me know.  Are you expecting compliments from the man in your life?  Or do you think it’s more reasonable that you’ll get more from me if we pass each other at the club tonight?

Hello, Howdy, Hey, Hi

I have a pet peeve.  I have many I suppose.  But this one rears its head more than others.  I try to stop myself from letting this bother me, but after years of trying, I see that I cannot.  It annoys me to no end that people do not speak.  I can’t seem to understand why it is that as I walk through a store or down a hallway at work, or perhaps out on the street, that people do not reciprocate the common greeting that is known to man.  I am baffled that after catching eye contact with a person, that they don’t feel the same urge to speak as I do.

I am a loud person.  I talk loud, laugh loud and am told to quiet down a lot.  So I know that when I speak to people during my daily activities, that they for sure hear me.  There may be the occasional malfunctioning hearing aid to challenge this, but for the most part, I’m pretty sure I’m heard.  And still, people will walk on by.

Who can explain this to me?  Are folks just that deep in thought?  Or that enveloped in their own stresses that they truly do not hear greetings from others?  Or are we becoming a selfish society where we don’t even care enough about others to engage in the common kind word?

Tell me what you think.

Fear of Spiders

I am seriously afraid of spiders.  I don’t care what kind, size or color.  My fear is so bad, that I am scared of dead spiders as well. Yes, I know that is crazy.  My husband gets mad at me about this all the time.  But even if one is crunched up in a corner dead from a 3 minute spray of Raid, I am still highly afraid of it!

I remember being young and spotting an eight legged freak on the wall and the instant increase of my heartbeat.  The immediate fear that would come over me was, and still is, overwhelming.  I would call for my dad to please come and kill this living intrusion in my peaceful oasis.  But you would have to know my dad.  He does nothing at a speed other than what benefits him.  I’m sure there is no need to state that killing a spider never meant much to him.  So he would take his time.  Nope, no kind of “father to the rescue” plans on his agenda.  No brownie points for his baby girl to tack on her wall.  He’d get there when he got there.  This could mean my waiting for a good and full 10 minutes before I would hear the springs of his mattress squeal announcing that he was getting up.  And mind you, that didn’t always mean he was coming straight to me.  He would maybe take a bathroom break first or check the weather outside the window.  All of this while my eyes are glued to the spider having a field trip on my ceiling.  I can’t even tell you the stress of watching this nasty little bug crawling all over the place while waiting for my dad to finally come and kill it.  The responsibility I had to track it’s every movement until he arrived.  I couldn’t walk out and leave it behind.  I had to tell my dad exactly where it was so he could get rid of it.  So I was stuck in there with it.  Watching its every move.  When my dad would finally come, I could point to it and finally make my exit to safety.  Relieved finally that it was all over.  Unless I would hear the words: “I lost ‘im”.  Or: “That one got away.”  Then came a night of no sleep wondering if it would come to attack me for trying to have it assassinated.

My daughter knows none of this.  I am trying my hardest to raise her not to be scared of spiders.  Any bugs or critters for that matter.  And so far she is not.  She has surprisingly picked up dead spiders from our basement when we go down there to watch a movie.  “Ugh” she says.  “There’s a spider.  I’ll get it.”  And she struts right into the bathroom to get tissue to pick it up and throw it away.  I am amazed at this.  Amazed that I’ve kept my fear hidden enough to produce this courage in my kid.  But with this comes a funny little caveat. My daughter is still very young.  Too young, obviously, to verbalize the difference between spiders and other bugs.  So when when my hands are full of groceries that I’m bringing from the garage, she says: “there’s a spider” or I’m driving in the car on the freeway doing 65 miles an hour is when she yells out: “it’s a spider on you, mommy”.  Not knowing the absolute terror she is befalling upon me in her lack of differentiating between a spider and say an ant!  Or a spider and a fly.  A spider and any hybrid of bugs that fly around!  To her, every bug is a spider!  And she is giving me mini heart-attacks weekly by yelling at me my worst phobia!

Her lack of anxiety from them, causes her to be so relaxed about their presence.  Whereas this is what I want for her, it is definitely not what I want for myself!  I need everyone to be on high alert with weapons drawn at the sight of a spider.  But there is no way for me to have that and still keep my daughter ignorant of my dread.  I would hate for her to learn to fear spiders now after she’s shown such courage against them.  So my fear has to be hidden.  My sweaty armpits at the mention of a spider has to be explained as a hot flash.  I have to keep the high pitched volume (that signifies distress) of my voice low when calling for my husband to come and dispose of one on the ceiling.  Pretend it’s because dad is taller than me that I have to get him to come and help.

I look forward to the time when her courage against the diabolic arachnid will be solidified and I no longer have to hide my fear.  I can call for her to come and kill them and not be embarrassed by the high pitched yell.  And in the meantime, just pray that she is always mistaken about the “spiders” we encounter day to day!

Good Hand Washing

I work in the medical field.  I get work emails and see posted signs all day long telling me that it is necessary to wash my hands for 15-20 seconds for them to be clean of dirt and germs.  Doctors say that good hand washing is the #1 method to prevent colds and viruses.

Working with patients as part of my daily grind,  affords me the opportunity to actually wash my hands multiple times within an hour period.  Not only that, but I have a toddler at home who is deep in the throws of potty training.  So…I wash my hands all day at work.  I wash my hands all evening at home.  I wash my hands whenever my kid goes to the bathroom.  (Any mom can tell you that this alone is an astronomical number) I wash my hands whenever I go to the bathroom.  (Sadly, this amount may be comparable to the kid!!)  I wash my hands before every meal.  I wash my hands before I prepare those meals.  Needless to say, the point of stating all this is to impress the point that I do a great deal of hand-washing.  And I am strict about washing them for 20 seconds each time.  (Call me an overachiever if you must)  So can someone please explain to me why I am sitting here with a steaming mug of hot tea after taking cold and sinus medicine, trying to breath with my mouth open since my sinuses are stuffed while failing in my attempt to ignore the pain of my aching and sore throat?!

I am truly baffled how I always become one of the millions of persons who catch a cold.  And I get about three every winter starting around September.  (Although there are still 2 months or more before the first snowfall) Not to mention I get slammed with the infamous summer cold which is still an oxy-moron in my mind!!

It truly amazes me that a person who adheres to the laws of medical science still suffers from the consequence of a person who does not.  Are the doctors lying?  Are they in cahoots with soap companies in a major governmental money scam to force us all to buy more soap and gel hand sanitizer?  Because I am living proof that this hand washing theory may not be real!

With that said, please excuse me while I blow my nose and ask my hygiene deficient husband–who rinses his hands in water for 1.9 seconds yet never gets sick–to check the medicine cabinet for Vick’s vapor rub.

Mystery Man

My husband and I have been married for 13 years.  And sometimes he still surprises me.  No, I don’t mean in the “he brought me flowers” or “he went to Jared” type of way.  Although I do get a few of those on occasion.  But he surprises me at times when he becomes this other guy for other people.  I’ll call this guy Ethan.  No, Rick.  That sounds like a fun-loving guy, don’t you think?

So Rick comes out at different times.  Like, if we go out with his job for the occasional bru-ha-ha after work.  Or take his team out for dinner and drinks to keep the morale up for work.  I sometimes have to take a second look at him to realize who he is.  Let me explain such an occasion recently when we went to a baseball game with some friends.

Neither of us are big fans of any sport in particular.  But we may accept the one-off invite to go to a game here or there.  On this particular day, the weather was gorgeous.  Breezy, balmy and the sun was out but not too intimidating.  Although the weather was acting perfect, he and I were on separate moons that day.  Not arguing or bickering.  But just not meshing and flowing either.  If you’re married, I’m sure you know that sort of day.  But I promise I won’t let that sway my opinions of this event.

So, we get in the car to meet the group at a friend’s house.  On the way there, I notice just how quiet we are.  I’m a talker.  I love to talk.  So I notice the lack of conversation.  No small talk.  Nothing to fill the silence.  But this is my husband.  He gets like this.  And I accept it.  (Lord only knows the things he “accepts” of me.  I’m scared to wonder.)  We arrive at the friend’s home to a house full of folks.  Already started drinking with music playing.  A huge smile settles on my husband’s face and I know immediately I am seeing the first signs of Rick.  After all the arrangements are made as to who was driving and who was riding with whom, we loaded into the cars for the trip to the stadium.  I was forced into the third row of a huge Chevy Tahoe with a wife I’ve spoken to only in passing over the years. But I am sitting behind Rick who is now in full force.  Talking, making conversation, asking questions to the group at the front of the car.  Laughing, joking and being what I’d call charming.  Once inside the stadium, he is focused on being such a people pleaser that he loses me in the chaos of folks entering to see the game.  And he barely notices until all the other husbands are walking in with their wives and making sure they have their tickets together.  This may be the one flaw Rick has.

The group of us are now at our seats.  My husband–oh I’m sorry, I mean Rick–begins to chat it up profusely with one of the couples sitting beside him.  Again, asking interest arousing questions, making jokes.  Showing this conversational side that I only get to witness every once in a while.  I’m at a disadvantage because I can’t hear most of the conversation going on between he and them.  And the couple on my side are busy talking to the other side of the group on their end.  So I’m sort of left out.  But that’s not the purpose of this blog.  To complain about me sitting at a boring baseball game in perfect weather, surrounded by thousands with absolutely no one to talk to.  No, that’s not what this is about.  This is about this guy Rick that I meet every once in a while who I think I may like to get to know a little better by seeing more often. Although I’m not altogether sure of this. I’d love to see what relationship he and I would have if we met alone some time.  (Maybe while driving in the car to some friends house to go to a game or something.)

But let me finish telling you about Rick that evening.  As always, Rick throws one liners and talks about topics I didn’t even know was part of his repertoire.  Rick buys rounds of beer for all the fellas and even drinks it himself.  (Something my husband never requests on the grocery list app we synced up on our phones.) He even has a beer preference!  (Ha!  Who knew?!)  And let me tell you the absolute best part.  We were put on the jumbo tron at the game!  Although they show folks time after time after time during the entire game, I for one have never been on there.  And I must say have never talked to someone who has been on it.  (Are we sure they don’t just continue to play old footage of games from ’94 and that’s why we know no one on there?) But to our surprise, the camera guy came to our section and taped us!  The entire group was amazed and so excited!  Screaming and waving at the camera and holding up their beers in mock celebration.  (Because our team lost horribly.) You want to know what Rick did?  Well, I’m gonna tell you.  Rick pulled up his shirt and aired all 250 pounds of his round belly to the fan-filled stadium! Isn’t Rick silly?  My husband would never do those things.  He’s a relatively reserved guy.  But these are the things that Rick does.  You never know what he’s going to do or say next.

Well now it’s time for us to go home.  And no one else notices it, but I can see Rick starting to disappear.  He’s still there mind you, but not as much.  He is still laughing and talking and throwing in digs as if timed beforehand.  But as his estranged wife, I can see Rick starting to step back into the shadows.  We say our goodbyes and give hugs with promises to do this again soon and get back into our car.  The man in the driver seat lets out a long, wide yawn and says something about being too old to stay out this late anymore.  And with that, Rick is gone.  We don’t ride home in silence this time.  The excitement of just being out in the fresh air and the fun of being on a jumbo tron for our first time coupled with relaxing effects of the beer, we are beginning to mesh a little bit.  So we talk.  But we talk about aching legs from the walk to the stadium from the parking lot, how much it cost for our wings and fries–noticing we could have went to Ruth Chris for the same amount we paid for fast food.  You know, the basic conversation of husband and wife.  Nope, I’m not complaining one bit.  As stated, I love to talk.  I’ll make conversation about anything.  I just wonder if these are things Rick would have talked about if he were there.

Toddler Humiliation

I am a first time mom.  Along with that comes the stress of constantly wondering if you are raising your kid properly.  Because of  that, you look for any opportunity that will make you feel good about what you have done so far.  Sometimes you may find yourself pulling at straws to find even one tiny little thing the little hellian you created is doing right to finally feel vindicated to wear that “MOM” title.

But remember the saying: “One step forward, two steps back”.

One step forward:  I watched my friend’s two little girls for her one day last week.  They are both older than my two-year old.  I’m gonna say one is four and the other is either six or seven.  Very nice girls. After being at my house for a short time, I was a tiny bit surprised how they never said ‘please’ or ‘thank you’.  While playing in my living room, they kept jumping on the couches after me asking them numerous times not to.  And at one point, someone (no one has admitted to it even to this day) knocked a speaker to our tv off of its stand and just left it on the floor without saying anything.  These are not any actions that surprised me due to the kid’s ages.  But these things did make me feel good because my daughter was no part of it.  She does say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’.  She even says ‘excuse me’ when you’re talking to someone so as not to interrupt.  She was not running across my leather couches while wearing her shoes and she was not jump roping in the middle of my living room.  (granted, this last part is because she does not yet know how to jump rope but that’s not the point!)

Needless to say, I spent a small portion of that morning inwardly smiling because I was happy to see that the fussing and continuous hounding on my kid is actually paying off.  I was starting to get a little puffed up.  Proud even.  I was already having the conversation in my head how I was going to discuss my good parenting skills with my husband when he got home from work.  Surely he could benefit from the proven techniques I’ve integrated into raising our child!!

Two steps back:  Later that afternoon – after a trip to the park, indoor jump roping (as stated) and a quick walk through the woods – it was time for everyone (myself included) to take a nap.  I laid all three girls in the bed in the spare room.  As is the routine with my daughter, we read two stories.  My friend’s oldest daughter could barely keep her eyes open as we read the stories and was halfway asleep by the end.  I tucked them all in and eagerly headed toward my own sanctuary.  I could barely get out the room when my daughter sits up and calls my name.  When she sits up, my friend’s youngest sits up.  I soothe her and tuck them all in again.  This time, I make it out of the room and almost have the door closed when my daughter sits up and calls me again.  When she sits up, again the youngest sits up.

Let me here explain that my daughter is definitely going through the toddler “i don’t want to sleep, ask for more water, ask for another kiss, another hug, please put socks on my feet, door open, light on, babies lined in the right order and sing a song before I can go to sleep” phase.  I thought for sure that being with the other two, she would gladly and quickly fall asleep.  But after calling me twice, I knew we were going to have a problem.  I calmed her down yet again and this time actually made it across the hall into my room before I heard her calling me once more.  And you guessed it, when I went back into the room, her and her buddy were both sitting up looking at me.  The only difference was that my daughter was looking wide awake whereas her partner was looking droopy-eyed and might I add a little annoyed.  I knew this could get bad.  So I take my daughter out of there to sleep in her own room.  An idea she seemed fine with when I first mentioned it to her.  But as I’m sure you can tell, quickly disintegrated.  I put my kid in her crib, and she immediately started her list of requests.  No matter that I had just filled all of these before laying her down in the spare room with her friends!  Well, folks, the kid went into a one-sided screaming match once I told her no more requests would be filled.  My child started screaming at the top of her lungs, jumping up and down in her crib while beating on the side.  I couldn’t believe it!  Surely she knew her friends were hearing all this in the other room.  Surely she should be embarrassed to act in such a manner with an audience, right?  Ha!  Completely wrong, my friends.  And no, she did not do this for a few moments and then calm herself.  She did this for 45 minutes!  No, I didn’t say 4 to 5 minutes, I said FORTY-FIVE minutes.  Half the time I couldn’t make out what words she was yelling, but none of it mattered.  (i don’t think)  Because the racket she caused was unnerving!  And all the while, there were two sweet, peaceful and perfect little angels trying to get some sleep in the other room and at the same time allow me to get my rest to be recharged for them for the afternoon.  But my kid, the one I was telling you about who says ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ sat there screaming like something possessed!  She did cry herself to sleep.  And you would think the story ended there.  And yes, yes it should.  But she didn’t stay asleep.  She woke up.  After only half an hour of sleep.  And basically picked up right where she left off.  And if you’re wondering–yes, she did wake up the other two.  And no, I did not get a nap myself.

I spent the rest of the afternoon wondering what I am to do about this behavior!  What should I have done differently so that situation would have gone a lot smoother? How in the world did my friend get her two kids to just lay down and go to sleep without any arguments, bribing or requests? And why the heck wasn’t my husband home to support me with this hellian we created rather than out working a job?  Doesn’t he know that I need his help?

So.  Do you see why this entry is entitled ‘Toddler Humiliation’?  It’s because my kid definitely humbled me last week.  After the briefest moment of gloat I’ve ever seen.  There are many simple lessons to be learned from this.  Two I’m going to mention.  Kids are kids and I’ve got to readily accept this roller coaster ride having her has put me on. And I guess my main one is to revel in the good things my daughter does.  Be sure to compliment her on them when they happen.  But don’t get myself so built up that it’s so shaming when she brings me back down.  LOL  You got to love her!

Unsexy Realization

So, I have a question for you.  When did you realize that you look nothing how you’ve imagined yourself?  Have you gotten there yet?  Did it hit you years ago?  Is it a manifestation of a mid-life crisis ?

My demise came a few months ago.  My daughter was “graduating” from her Little Gym class and my family all came up to help us celebrate.  Video cameras and all.  Yes.  Video cameras.  Who knew that a fun family event would turn into a sad source of a memory for me?

I have what I’ve always considered to be a cute and fashionable jogging suit that I frequently wear when I need to be comfortable yet still want to look in style.  I got it from Victoria’s Secret.  Let me here mention that my body habitus in no way resembles a model from that company!  But I swear there must be something on those pages that gets etched in your mind that makes you feel–no, makes you think–that you don’t look like them, yet you don’t look far from them either.  Perhaps their “sexiness” in the outfit you buy lingers in your minds eye and then that’s the only thing you see.  Even when you put it on and stand in front of a mirror!  I don’t know.  But as stated, this was my ‘go to’ jogging suit.  And I wore it for my daughter’s little shindig.  Needless to say, those horrible cameras my husband and father had nerve to bring, captured a side of me that I thought looked A LOT different.  It was in those videos that I saw the real me.  From behind!!!

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I haven’t looked into the mirror and inspected my backside before.  Who doesn’t?  But still, what I saw surprised me.  It shouldn’t have–but it did.  I come from a long line of inherited square booties.  My mom has a square-shaped booty, one of my aunts had a square-shaped booty.  Her daughter, my cousin, has a square shape. And sadly, my sister has the square!  Boy how I would “tsk” at her as she walked by me.  Sad that she was unfortunate to inherit the infamous square!!  Little did I know I’d be sporting it soon enough myself!  To be fair, I have no idea when the square actually showed up!  (Dear God has it been there this entire time?!) I had always checked out my butt when I got dressed, after a shower, at all the usual times one does it.  And never did I realize that it was not heart-shaped.  Well, let me not lie–I did realize it wasn’t heart-shaped, but believe me, it wasn’t a square either!  You do believe me, don’t you?

Watching that video totally changed everything I felt about myself.  I used to saunter past guys and not worry at all about what they were going to see when I went by. No, I didn’t flaunt it at all. But I wasn’t ashamed of it either.  I wasn’t nervous wondering if they were going to be checking me out as I strutted on.  But now, after seeing that video of myself, I want nothing more than to walk backwards away from folks.  Male AND female for crying out loud!!

So let me just tell you that I have come to a definite new idea of myself.  Sadly it is not a good nor happy one.  I am still trying to come to grips with it all.  Because it for sure took me by surprise.  And all thanks to a two-year old needing a recording of her graduation on learning how to do a roll.  (or somersault as they called it there)  Curses to my husband and father for bringing those wretched cameras!!  (Who ever invented those horrible things anyway?!)

In conclusion, beware those mirrors, folks!  They do not show you truly what others see.  My suggestion, have someone video tape you before you go anywhere and play it back before you walk out the door!!!  Be 100% sure you know what everyone else is going to see before you leave!!

You have been warned!!!