On Being Me

Two evenings ago I came home from work, walked the dog, rested a bit and changed into those clothes you change into when you know you're not going to be leaving the house anymore that evening. I put my hair up in a ponytail, put the fluffy socks on and got comfortable.

Then someone called. It was some of our friends and they were game for sushi. In like an hour. I LOVE sushi. Once Eddie got home from work and was excited to get out for the evening I actually had to get dressed. Again.

I threw on some pants from the work day and dressed them up with a few choice accessories and a shirt/sweater thingy. I wasn't confident so I turned to my loving husband and asked, "How do I look?" We were almost running late and I'd hate to think he took that into account when he answered, "You look great."

We get into the car and I have to check the second half-hearted make up job of the day in the flip down mirror on the passenger's side every five minutes on the way there. I still wasn't confident, so I asked Eddie that question again. I got the same answer. I wanted him to find something wrong so I could fix it. Anything.

We finally get to our destination. We get out of the car and are walking toward the restaurant through the parking lot. I ask him again. He smiles and gives me the same answer. Now, I know he loves me, but what did I really expect him to say? We were AT the restaurant. Even if he had found something wrong with the make up or the outfit or the... anything, what was I going to do about it then? I told him so and he laughed. He grabbed my hand and led me through a group of people blocking the entrance. He kept smiling.

I'm glad he loves me.

I'm glad the light wasn't very good in the restaurant.


The Donut Letter

So. I go to the mailbox this afternoon after a brisk walking-of-the-dog. The walk was short because Cody is irrationally afraid of rain. Or wind. Or of any discussion involving rain or wind. When it thunders, he crawls right under the bed and puts his paws directly over his shaggy eyebrows to block out the world.

I remove the mail and start to flip through the envelopes and flyers. There's an envelope from the holder of my student loans telling me that another month's worth has been electronically zapped from my checking account. There's an invitation to the Annual Red Apple Sale from some store, a letter from the church and an invitation for my husband to receive Playboy, delivered directly to our home, for one year for only ONE DOLLAR. I put that aside for his review. I decided then to open the letter from the church. Our address was hand written on the envelope. How often do you see that anymore? It deserved my attention.

Inside the envelope were two letters. Both began with, "Dear Volunteer." That's right. I volunteered for things. Things I would eventually have to do. It's really great to feel like you've done something already when you sign up to volunteer. It feels good to sign up. Then the letter comes.

I have obligated myself to bring donuts to the casual church service once every few weeks. I have to bring 3 dozen when it's my turn. I have volunteered to EAT donuts. That's what I've done. Those girls in Playboy, they eat donuts, don't they?
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