Archive for August, 2012

Confession is good for the soul, is it not?

I had three moments today that made me think to myself, “Keep going, keep walking, do not make eye contact and do not look back.”  There are a few good things about turning 30.  One of those things is being fully aware that humiliation does not kill you.  It does NOT make you stronger, but it does give you another reason to have a glass of wine.

Exhibit A:  While dropping of a sizable donation of clothes and crap at the Goodwill collection site, I realized that along with about a half-dozen plastic bags of t-shirts, there were several handfuls of un-bagged clothes in my trunk including, ahem, ladies brassieres.  That may or may not have formerly been mine.  They were not in embarassing shape, lest you think I donate overstretched elastic and lethal underwires.  They had been in my drawers.  They hadn’t worked out.  I thought someone might need them.  Especially if they didn’t have one.  I may not even KNOW you so why am I justifying my choices and worrying about explaing why some underwear didn’t work out?  Anyway, long story short, I had to hand my bras to a large and sweaty man who was collecting donations.  “Do you want a receipt for your donation?” He asked.  “NO, I’M GOOD, K, THANKS!” I called over my shoulder, running to the anonymity of my car.  I’m such a boob, you know?

Exhibit B:  While at the library, I asked the librarian to renew a book that I have checked out.  It happens to be called, “Are you there, Vodka, It’s me Chelsea”.  It’s by Chelsea Handler and is predictably crass and funny.  I said, using my inside, quiet, library voice, “Excuse me.  There’s one book on my account and I’d like to renew it.  Can you do that for me?”  She answered, practically screaming like a teenager at their first concert, “IS IT, ‘ARE YOU THERE, VODKA….”  I nodded hastily, glancing around to see if mothers were pulling their toddler’s closer.  I should’ve waved, “Hi…hi everyone, yes, that’s me…the vodka one…I drink vodka and read books about it…but I do go to church…and I also love gay people…and I try not to judge people who can’t help it…of course, if it’s a fashion faux pas that you could’ve helped, well then…uh, well, mmmmkay, that’s all.  Just a slow, drunk reader over here.  You’re welcome.  I’m leaving now.”

Exhibit C:  I came home after my errands and did a quick change, only to head out to meet some friends for dinner.  During a quick bathroom check, I decided to do a dumb thing.  Dumb because I knew what would happen.  I decided to pick a zit.  Which of course, would make it worse, not better.  Well, being late, I ran out the door and forgot about it, until on the way to dinner, I happened to touch my cheek and find a hot mess that was not fit for public viewing, and particularly not that in a restaurant.  I frantically searched through my car for a napkin, a tissue, an old tshirt, anything…finding nothing, I had to McGuyver a solution.  A solution which was…a tampon.  That’s right, folks, I had to sacrifice my emergency tampon for a bona fide emergency.  It stopped the bleeding.  It did not stop the shame.

There is no more to say except that it’s time for a glass of wine.


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