|
My Profile
Fairytales for a Practical Princess - 2008-11-30
|
9:28 a.m. - 2004-07-17
In which our heroine re-discovers her inner hootchie-mama. I went out yesterday. First time since going to the Lyme doctor. That’s 8 days if you are playing along at home. Just think about that. When’s the last time you were in your house for week? Sure, I go out into the yard. Got as far as the chicken coop Wednesday, but I had not left our property since July 8th. I was going a bit stirry. Mike came home early and took me to the movies. Wolf was along too so we went to see Harry Potter again. I enjoyed it as much as the first time. Maybe even more, I wasn’t as distracted by the radically thinned out Neville and the new Dumbledore. Besides the bit where Hermione decks Malfoy, my favorite scene is where Harry and the gang are hanging out in their dorm room eating those animal noise candies. Certainly not integral to the story, but it was like seeing their ‘real’ lives. Adventure is good, magical beasts and battles and the rest. But the candy scene is just boys being boys. Life goes on, even if an escaped murderer is after you, and there’s time for fun and goofing with your friends. I like that. It’s going to take a lot more time than I thought to be well. I’m as weak as a kitten. No stamina. None. Sitting on my duff for a couple weeks is what the doctor ordered, but damn if it hasn’t left me more invalid-ish than ever. After showering and doing my hair I had to sit down and rest before putting on my make-up. Ticked me off. Okay fine. I don’t have a job. I can’t drive. I have to go down my cellar stairs on my rear end. But frigging with my GROOMING ROUTINE???? Now I’m pissed. The end result was good though. Startling, actually. After getting made-up and dressed I stood there looking at myself in the bathroom mirror. It was like looking at a stranger. Honestly. The woman in the mirror had cheek bones. She had collar bones. She was wearing a pair of low-rise Levis and a top that barely met the waistband. Thus when she moved there was a brief flash of skin. Nope, couldn’t be me. Hallucination, maybe. 41 year old cow-fraus do not wear belly shirts. If they have navels they keep them to themselves and they sure as heck don’t go around flaunting their stretch marks. The woman in the mirror just laughed. “I had a baby, not leprosy! Badges of honor, hon.” Ohhhh-kay. Who are you really? And what have you done with LA? You know, that barge in beige? The behemoth who had to wait in the car? The waddling pig Mike was ashamed to introduce to his friends? The one who no matter how many people she stood behind in family photos always stuck out like the Goodyear Blimp? That’s who should be looking out of the mirror. Not you. Not a brash stranger in a belly shirt. Not some bold interloper wearing her beanpole husband’s belt and a pirate smile. There was no help for it, LA never did show up. So I took that stranger to the movies instead. We had a good time. First dates are always kind of awkward. But you know what? I think I like that woman in the mirror. One day I might even love her. Happy Saturday, ~LA
|
