Should I just post something (that I hope is) witty, or should I offer up some explanation for the 3 months or so that I’ve been an absentee blogger? It’s just that I’m not (usually) one for whining and complaining and I’d sooner eat escargot while being tickled by clowns (3 things I don’t favor) than bore you with my life. Oh, wait. Isn’t this blog about moi? Let’s just do the abridged version then, shall we…
What’s a word for wanting to get out of bed every morning, wanting to have a great day filled with the laughter of my kids and the adoring gaze of the man I love, but having such a minuscule amount of energy to utilize for that 24-hour period that each day feels like I’m just getting through it rather than relishing it? It’s not depression. To me, that means one has lost the desire to do any of those things. Can I call it Crapville? That sounds better. In Crapville, I’ve been feeling completely unlike myself. For more on why I entered Crapville in the first place click here. Anyway….let’s giggle a little. You can laugh if you want. You may also guffaw, if it suits you. I’m always ready for a good spit-as-you-laugh moment, aren’t you? I would take it as a compliment so please feel free.
A Little Book Browsing…
Recently, I was in Barnes & Noble with my son, Luke, when an elderly gentleman approached us in the greeting card section.
“I thought they only let beautiful women in here,” he said.
Before I could reply with a “Huh?” or a “When was the last time you looked in a mirror? 1932?”, he corrected himself.
“There are so many beautiful women here!” he said. He looked down at Luke, “Are you being a good boy?”
Luke scowled. I smiled tightly and took a sharp turn into the fiction section, pulling my kid behind me.
After we had browsed the cookbooks and Llama Llama books, we got on the line to pay, which was rather long. I felt eyes on my back and turned to look over my shoulder.
“You could read every book in the store while waiting on this line,” an elderly man said. (Not the one from the greeting card section. A different guy.)
Sounds innocent enough, I know, but his body language said it all. There was a twinkle in his eye and I got the feeling that he had doubled up on his Viagra that day.
Clearly, the Madewell jeans that my cousin Lauren vouched were good-butt-jeans were not designed to attract men my age. Not that I’m on the prowl (Hi, Michael. I love you, Cutie.), but if I were it’s apparent that my dating pool is more Ryan O’Neal than Ryan Reynolds. As if edging toward 34 isn’t slap in the face enough.
Guess I’d better hang on to the man I’ve got.