Aug 3, 2009
Chicken (or Vegan) Soup for You
Perhaps you will recall that it takes little to rattle me. That, 90% of the time, I hold my head steady.
What? Why are you laughing?
And that only a few times in my life will I write about feelings of failure, sadness, mortification.
I mean, what's the point? This is the internet, after all, and I would never want to be a Downer Debbie for your soul. If this blog is not Chicken Soup for You, then, well, I quit.
Not really. What I mean is, it matters more to me to be transparent and truthful about the highs and lows of life, rather than bear my pearlies (which, by the way, I do want fixed again; still have an overbite) on a seemingly impossible basis.
So, I give you this: I pulled a total bratty, baby move and made Shawn do most of the work yesterday. Sunday. The. Day. Of. Rest. And he's at work all the time. Yes, so am I, but, we tend to take the teamwork approach when it comes to Wild Man. I feel ashamed today. Ashamed my bum left an indention in the couch, and, uh, our bed. But so appreciative I have a man who lets me take a break.
As I mull it over a little more, I'm leaning toward forgiving myself for not always embracing the mundane tasks set before me . The loving Wilder part? That's the easy stuff. The rest? Meh.
Confession #2: I'm deathly afraid of shorts and have yet to meet anyone who will convince me that it's okay to wear them, even with a tan and cellulite cure (neither of which I possess). So I tromp around this land in blazingly uncomfortable jeans (muffin top).
Confession #3: I could've been kissed on my Sweet 16 but opted out for fear of having bad breath (metal mouth).
Confession #4: I haven't washed my hair since Friday.
Confession #5: I secretly wish we would've left the green carpet, heavy vintage drapery, and kitchen wallpaper in our house to preserve the mid-century feel (I wasn't as obsessed with this era as I am now; oh well, we will find another "time capsule" someday)
Confession #6: I received lots of roses from beaus in high school (I was fabulously thin), so, in order to differentiate whom they were from, once dried (this was a weird trend back then), I color-coded the stems with nail polish. I also had an obsession with kitties and Laura Ingalls, uh, Wilder.
Whew. That feels better. Goodnight.