Saturday, March 18, 2006

In a Pinch

Yesterday was St. Patrick's Day. It used to be such a big deal in grade school--only dorks and space cadets didn't wear green, who wanted to get pinched by those mean boys? But I'm a 'dult now and thought all that was behind me. It's just not a big-deal day anymore--though the colcannon sample at Trader Joes was a good intro to their instant mashed potatoes--so I didn't wear green yesterday. And was pinched, hard, by one of my fellow cube-dwellers! I gave it my best school-girl scream-n-shrink, what the hell, it had been a long week.


After weeks of thunderstorms, today is a jewel of a day, all aquamarine skies and emerald hills. A relief from the muffled, puddled, smoky quartz days I've been moving through. I could almost see the iris stretching their leaves in the deck barrels, the rose leaves relaxing open. Perfect vacuuming weather. I can leave the doors and windows open, chasing away the damp, glowering smell. If I had more energy I'd wash the windows themselves, but I think that's a chore I'll have to tackle with my husband.


M talks about being a bad bachelor when I'm gone (it is disconcerting to return after a week of conferencing to three pizza boxes wedged into the trashcan and a refrigerator that shows no evidence of being opened). He mopes, he says. Now it's my turn to be a bachelorette. I was just dreaming out the window about dinner--homemade pumpkin ravioli? Something with peppers in it, which I rarely cook with since M despises them?

I do fine until bedtime. I get nervous closing up the house when I'm all by myself. I put off turning out the light until I know I'll fall asleep immediately. And I mope when I wake up alone--well, the only human anyway, canine and feline remain attached to me during all horizontal moments. Though the past two mornings it was actually kinda nice to wake up and rattle around, turn on lights, turn up the radio and not worry about waking M up. And I enjoy contemplating my activities--walking the dog, errands to the fabric shop and Target, clothing repairs I'm going to try to tackle today. And again, what will I make for dinner? There's a fancy Italian deli around the corner from where I'm blogging, maybe I'll stop in on my way home.

He's only going to be gone for a few days, but I miss him terribly.


That body image thing never goes away, does it? Discussing a dress pattern with my sewing teacher the other night, I had to actually divulge the circumference of my thighs, which is particularly difficult with her--she's not only petite, but has those slim boy hips with no bulging whatsoever. I felt so embarrassed about myself. Also during that class, we had earlier examined the sewing project of a 13 year old who had joined our class--the teacher was demonstrating how to enlarge her pants pattern, and was careful to point out that the pattern was for a size that the girl obviously wasn't , but that's how sewing patterns are--they run about two sizes smaller than off the rack clothes. How discouraging is that?


Speaking of clothes, stop the madness! I was leafing through my Victoria's Secret catalog and was stunned to see the return/regurgitation of cropped black leggings under a big layered sweater. What a howl for fashion help. I think I've seen leg warmers, too. Do not be assimilated!


Post a Comment

<< Home