It’s awful that I’m putting up two quotes in a row. But I can’t get this one out of my mind. From John Mayer:
Life is like a box of crayons. Most people are the 8-color boxes, but what you’re really looking for are the 64-color boxes with the sharpeners on the back. I fancy myself to be a 64-color box, though I’ve got a few missing. It’s ok though, because I’ve got some more vibrant colors like periwinkle at my disposal. I have a bit of a problem though in that I can only meet the 8-color boxes. Does anyone else have that problem? I mean there are so many different colors of life, of feeling, of articulation.. so when I meet someone who’s an 8-color type.. I’m like, “hey girl, magenta!” and she’s like, “oh, you mean purple!” and she goes off on her purple thing, and I’m like, “no - I want magenta!”
“I got a crush on everybody. My math teacher. The bus driver. The bus boy. God, I used to get up in the dark and wait at the window to see the paper boy.”
“Always men?”
Ella nodded. “They hadn’t invented women yet, then,” she said.
I was having brunch one day with a group of girlfriends. There we were, all dressed for our posh brunch, professionals and established in our own ways. For someone looking in, the picture was one of poise and womanly charm.
Yet, if you listened in on our conversation, oh the horror! We were having cake and coffee after lunch and sharing stories of puke, constipation, child birth and other unmentionables in such gruesome detail that I worried that the next table of young girls might develop a phobia of growing old and becoming…us. Us The Older Women With Worn-down Dysfunctional Parts.
I had always been quite conservative and shy about bodily functions. To the extent that I think I’ve never farted before a boyfriend. God help me if I ever have to live with a man. I think I might develop constipation just from that thought.
But that’s just me and my extreme shyness. I can understand the need for a small degree of openness about these things. It’s not like we should aspire to be like uptight Hollywood stars who never sweat or have a strand of hair out of place. But still. My oh my, the glee we had with those stories! The sharing! The commiseration!
Clearly there’s a market for such sharing. I’m afraid I just don’t have much to contribute though. Because, y’know, I don’t sweat/pee/poop/fart, or have any problem with my womanly bits thankyouverymuch. *blushes*
1. I have a mysterious insect bite on my ankle, where yet-to-be-discovered toxins are pooled. I will one day be crippled from my inability to stop scratching.
2. I’m a useless engineering graduate. The idea of having to operate my DVD player to watch DMC has now paralysed me. I am going to break the TV and it’d be because I touched another piece of AV-related equipment in its proximity.
3. My mattress is so tortured and sunken in the middle that one particular spring has decided to stand up to the oppression and now assaults my lower back on a nightly basis. Someone should flip the mattress over to the good side. I’ll do that tomorrow. Or maybe Sunday. Hmm. Sometime.
4. I am receiving advice from nice older men on how to stop attracting silly younger boys. Smart choice of dating consultant. *pat on back*