I’ve been wanting to tell you all something, but I’ve been too scared. Which is silly, I know, but bear with me: I fear that you will help me, and at this point, guidance is frightening. Yes, I know that we all need guidance sometimes. And while I have my strengths–I’m diligent about finishing leftovers, I read quickly, and I’m pretty good at push-ups– I have plenty of “challenges” as well: a heinous sense of direction, a propensity for lateness, and no familiarity or affinity whatsoever for things that give many women pleasure.
Here’s an example. I can’t handle more than about 90 minutes in the mall. I start to twitch. I’m overstimulated. So, today I went to the mall (I had other errands there), gift card in hand, and finally got around to taking Hollow Squirrel’s advice and asking for guidance in the form of a bra fitting. When I read her suggestion five months ago it seemed like a good idea, and it’s been on the to-do list ever since. Today was the day. The sales lady clucked and harrumphed over my poor sizing. She told me to switch from a perfectly average-seeming size to a size which seems huge to me, although, in truth, the difference was only one cup. After some testing, I was appalled but convinced that she had a point. I left with two of the new bras, although frankly, I spent the rest of the day feeling a little bit as if “the girls” were going to knock into my chin at any moment. Completely unreasonable. Not even close. But I’m adjusting.
The experience threw me for such a loop that I wandered into Sephora and started thinking, “Should I ask someone to tell me what make-up to wear?” Because I don’t really wear make-up. I mean, I did. My peak make-up wearing year was probably 7th or 8th grade. It declined in high school, plummeted in college, and then Cute W doesn’t really like it. Nowadays, if I do try to sneak on, say, some mascara, Cute W or M or J notice and comment or ask what I’m wearing and why I’m wearing it and it becomes a big, interesting topic of conversation that makes me wish I’d skipped it entirely.
So there I was in Sephora, looking at so many, many shiny and lovely items, and just about all of the products said that 85% of all women felt super-fabulous moments after trying them, and 78% kept feeling groovier for a whole week. And I thought, “I’m not getting any younger. I’ve been walking around with my breasts squashed for decades. Maybe I need to rethink everything. How can I possibly figure out what’s worth the money? Maybe I desperately need guidance.” It was a vulnerable few minutes there, and an intuitive saleslady might have been able to make some serious commission. However, there were plenty of women who clearly purchase and wear make-up on a regular basis, so I wasn’t noticed. Overwhelmed by the sights and smells, I scuttled away.
So, what the hell was my point? Ummm, I’m not remotely ready for J’s party this weekend, and the girls are home from school tomorrow. I’m still overwhelmed by my oh-so-plentiful CSA harvest.
And in a few weeks, we’re going to Disney World. Which is wonderful. Terrific. Especially since I was deprived as a child and have never, ever, been to Disney World. At this point, it feels a little bit like when I was standing in Sephora today. A normal person would say, “Wow, that’s a cute lip gloss. I’ll buy it.” And they’ll skip happily out of the store. Â I stand there looking at products, thinking that I have to research all of these products, and I need to solicit professional advice, and I need to bring my three favorite shirts to coordinate colors, and then I skulk away, defeated, because I have no idea where to start.
And that’s where I am with Disney World right now. Not to mention, that even if I did research everything like I feel that I should, I’m not in charge of the trip–there are 10 of us altogether. We’re going with Cute W’s kind and generous family. So I’m really just along for the ride. Which means that I don’t need to research. Except maybe I should. And then I start to look around and I get intimidated. But I’ve got to get through J’s party before I can think about it.
Anyway, so, woo-hoo! We’re going to Disney World! But also, I’m having one of those feel my thirst moments. So, can you please not tell me all the things that we must do? Because it will only stress me out. But you can tell me that I’ll have fun. Or that you’d love to write a guest post. Or that you want to come to my house and take some green peppers off my hands. Anything else and I might have to breathe into a paper bag.