Sad, but true, it seems that I'm officially old enough to be flirted with by younger men. It's happened three times in one week and I think that has sealed the deal for me. I'm no longer in the age group that I could possibly misconstrue their sweet comments for pick-up lines. I'm old enough that they feel safe. They can say whatever they want to say because it's cute and they're doing it to make an old lady feel good.
Maybe it's my punishment for all of the years I spoke sweetly and harmlessly (I thought) to older men. Did I make them feel the same way this guy made me feel today? Or the way the other boy made me feel last week? Or the waiter yesterday? If it's happened three times in one week, it's official, isn't it? I've crossed into a new group. So does that mean I should stop speaking that way to older men? I used to think an older man might have enjoyed hearing that I liked his super white hair. Or his bow tie. That's why I said it. But now I see that it might just make him feel sad and old, like it made me feel today when the 23-year old said that he liked my shoes.
Actually, he didn't really say that he liked my shoes. He said, "Nice shoes," to which I replied, "Are you teasing me?" I really thought he might be joking because when I put them on this morning I had questioned them myself. But he answered, "No. Really. I think it's cool that you're wearing high heels on your bike." Now, I don't think a 30-year old would say that to another 30-year old. And I don't think it would be exchanged between 46-year olds either. But, a 23-year old to a 46-year old seems like a big enough gap (in addition to the fact that I could be his mother) to give him a certain safety net from misinterpretation.
I understand that the best thing would be to accept the compliments and feel flattered that a young man took the time to say anything to an old(er) lady riding past on her bike, right? And I should be happy that a waiter even wants to call me "honey." Unfortunately, it's still a little hard to swallow. Am I going to continue to fight the fact that I'm aging or am I going to adopt the healthy attitude of Donald, my 81-year old neighbor? He thinks it's cool to be old and youthful. He told me that he's fallen three times in the past week. Most recently, he was standing on the bus for 15 minutes and felt fine, but then he got off and fell. I told him that a handsome (there I go again) 81-year old man deserves a seat on the bus and he said with a shy smile, "Well now, it hardly seems fair to accept a seat offered by a pretty young girl when I'm on my way to the gym for a workout!"
Fortunately, I have 35 more years to practice being a little more like Donald. And hopefully instead of shyly refusing an offered seat on the bus, I'll be gracefully accepting a compliment on my bike.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Better late than never
I'm seldom late. And I guess I should also say that I'm seldom early, which only means that I'm almost always on time. By on time, I mean EXACTLY on time. I fill every minute before my departure doing "something". This means I often arrive with an unbuttoned shirt under an untucked sweater, an unclasped charm bracelet stashed in a pocket, unplaced toes in toe socks (terribly uncomfortable), untied boots or unbuckled sandals and sometimes even unglossed lips (which seldom happens due to my obsession with what I refer to as "lipstuff", a term I started using when I thought lipstick sounded too grown-up, lipgloss sounded too Seventeen Magazine, and chapstick really wasn't the truth because it was obvious, albeit embarrassing, that I'd moved on to more girlie products. So, I settled on the term "lipstuff", which, by the way, has definitely outlasted all Long Stay Lipsticks.)
And one more thing about my lipstuff. Before running 50 feet to the corner mailbox the other day, I thought I'd reapply because you never know who you might bump into and you don't want to get caught with bare lips. Really! I never had a mom that insisted I "put a little lipstick on" before heading out the door, so I don't know why it's become such a habit. But I reapplied, ran to the mailbox and was happy to smile a pink smile (it wasn't shiny because I've run out of the glossy part, so I suppose it almost looked like grown-up lipstick) when I unexpectedly ran into a friend in his shiny blue car at the corner.
But I was talking about being late, right?
An hour before my lunch date I texted my friend to say that I'd be arriving at 12:29 with hopes that he could skeedaddle (I actually texted that) at 12:30. He'd sent a message several days ago when we were making the date that 12:30 was a good time, but that I should meet him at his store "a bit before then." Why should I arrive "a bit before then" if we'd actually scheduled lunch for 12:30? Was it necessary that I stood there waiting while he used his last few minutes (which could have also been MY last few minutes) to organize his employees and get his jacket? It seemed odd, so I sent the text to clarify that I'd be there at 12:29. And he said okay.
When I arrived (at 12:29) I didn't see him. When the employees asked if I needed help I told them I was waiting for the manager. When 12:34 rolled around and I still didn't see him, I started getting restless. I admit it's a bit ridiculous to get restless after only 4 minutes, but restless is so much better than mad, isn't it? Imagine if I'd arrived "a bit before" 12:30? I'd have already been waiting for 8 minutes, and then I would've been REALLY restless, but hopefully still not mad. I've been practicing this "not getting mad when people are late" for awhile and I think it's working. I've started carrying a language dictionary everywhere I go and if I find myself with a free minute or two, I learn a new word or two.
There's no need for every detail. I'd sent him a bit testy text asking where he was. I'd decided to leave, told the staff (whom I'm sure saw my agitation, but I really wasn't mad!) to tell him I'd be at the restaurant, stepped outside, and suddenly realized that today was Thursday and we were scheduled to meet on Friday.
My only question is this: Wouldn't you wonder why you were getting a text with a detail as specific as 12:29 a day in advance? Shouldn't that have triggered a text back saying,"Lunch is on Friday, right?"
Isn't the correct answer: Yes, you would wonder about a text with a specific detail a day in advance? Unless of course it's from Tenley, who is already worried about how she'll spend her spare 4 minutes the following day.
It was all my fault. He called. I apologized for the testy text. He asked if we were still on for Friday at 12:30 and I said that we were, but that I'd have to wait outside because I'd be too embarrassed to see his employees after I'd been so sure that it was all his fault. I knew the right thing to have done would have been to have gone back inside to admit that I'd made a mistake, but I felt ashamed for getting agitated. So, I pedaled off. A few blocks later I couldn't take the guilt. I turned around and went back to tell them that it was MY fault and I'd see them again the next day at 12:29.
I wish I could be more like Anne Shirley of Anne of Green Gables by Maud Montgomery. She says,
...And I promise I'll never do it again.
That's the one thing about me.
I never do the same wrong thing twice.
I wish I could say that. But I'm sure I'll still get a little agitated the next time someone is late and I'm sure I'll get really agitated the next time I'm a day early.
Anne Shirley's words are much better words to live by than the ones I found in my Italian dictionary while I was waiting for someone that was late.
Meglio tardi che mai. (Better late than never.)
I suppose sometimes this phrase has its place. For instance, when you reach the finish line of a marathon later than you'd hoped. When a long-awaited letter shows up. When you finally arrive at that one place in the world you've always wanted to get to. When something you've been studying for a long time sinks in. When you find peace. When you're still filled with doubts about something and it scares you, but you do it anyway. These are all definitely better late than never.
However, it wasn't appropriate tonight when I ARRIVED LATE for a Christmas dinner with two dear friends. ('Better late than never' that at least I didn't have a car accident, yes. But 'better late than never' as an answer for being late, no.) I got there 8 minutes late and was greeted by, "I was just telling her that I was shocked that you weren't here yet because you're never late." I apologized and said that it was a good thing I hadn't finished the blog I'd been working on yesterday where I proclaimed that I'm almost always on time. I hadn't finished it because I couldn't find an ending. That is, until we exchanged gifts and I received a tube of shiny new lip gloss! Better late than never. And for those of you that have been asking for the next blog, here it is. Meglio tardi che mai.
And one more thing about my lipstuff. Before running 50 feet to the corner mailbox the other day, I thought I'd reapply because you never know who you might bump into and you don't want to get caught with bare lips. Really! I never had a mom that insisted I "put a little lipstick on" before heading out the door, so I don't know why it's become such a habit. But I reapplied, ran to the mailbox and was happy to smile a pink smile (it wasn't shiny because I've run out of the glossy part, so I suppose it almost looked like grown-up lipstick) when I unexpectedly ran into a friend in his shiny blue car at the corner.
But I was talking about being late, right?
An hour before my lunch date I texted my friend to say that I'd be arriving at 12:29 with hopes that he could skeedaddle (I actually texted that) at 12:30. He'd sent a message several days ago when we were making the date that 12:30 was a good time, but that I should meet him at his store "a bit before then." Why should I arrive "a bit before then" if we'd actually scheduled lunch for 12:30? Was it necessary that I stood there waiting while he used his last few minutes (which could have also been MY last few minutes) to organize his employees and get his jacket? It seemed odd, so I sent the text to clarify that I'd be there at 12:29. And he said okay.
When I arrived (at 12:29) I didn't see him. When the employees asked if I needed help I told them I was waiting for the manager. When 12:34 rolled around and I still didn't see him, I started getting restless. I admit it's a bit ridiculous to get restless after only 4 minutes, but restless is so much better than mad, isn't it? Imagine if I'd arrived "a bit before" 12:30? I'd have already been waiting for 8 minutes, and then I would've been REALLY restless, but hopefully still not mad. I've been practicing this "not getting mad when people are late" for awhile and I think it's working. I've started carrying a language dictionary everywhere I go and if I find myself with a free minute or two, I learn a new word or two.
There's no need for every detail. I'd sent him a bit testy text asking where he was. I'd decided to leave, told the staff (whom I'm sure saw my agitation, but I really wasn't mad!) to tell him I'd be at the restaurant, stepped outside, and suddenly realized that today was Thursday and we were scheduled to meet on Friday.
My only question is this: Wouldn't you wonder why you were getting a text with a detail as specific as 12:29 a day in advance? Shouldn't that have triggered a text back saying,"Lunch is on Friday, right?"
Isn't the correct answer: Yes, you would wonder about a text with a specific detail a day in advance? Unless of course it's from Tenley, who is already worried about how she'll spend her spare 4 minutes the following day.
It was all my fault. He called. I apologized for the testy text. He asked if we were still on for Friday at 12:30 and I said that we were, but that I'd have to wait outside because I'd be too embarrassed to see his employees after I'd been so sure that it was all his fault. I knew the right thing to have done would have been to have gone back inside to admit that I'd made a mistake, but I felt ashamed for getting agitated. So, I pedaled off. A few blocks later I couldn't take the guilt. I turned around and went back to tell them that it was MY fault and I'd see them again the next day at 12:29.
I wish I could be more like Anne Shirley of Anne of Green Gables by Maud Montgomery. She says,
...And I promise I'll never do it again.
That's the one thing about me.
I never do the same wrong thing twice.
I wish I could say that. But I'm sure I'll still get a little agitated the next time someone is late and I'm sure I'll get really agitated the next time I'm a day early.
Anne Shirley's words are much better words to live by than the ones I found in my Italian dictionary while I was waiting for someone that was late.
Meglio tardi che mai. (Better late than never.)
I suppose sometimes this phrase has its place. For instance, when you reach the finish line of a marathon later than you'd hoped. When a long-awaited letter shows up. When you finally arrive at that one place in the world you've always wanted to get to. When something you've been studying for a long time sinks in. When you find peace. When you're still filled with doubts about something and it scares you, but you do it anyway. These are all definitely better late than never.
However, it wasn't appropriate tonight when I ARRIVED LATE for a Christmas dinner with two dear friends. ('Better late than never' that at least I didn't have a car accident, yes. But 'better late than never' as an answer for being late, no.) I got there 8 minutes late and was greeted by, "I was just telling her that I was shocked that you weren't here yet because you're never late." I apologized and said that it was a good thing I hadn't finished the blog I'd been working on yesterday where I proclaimed that I'm almost always on time. I hadn't finished it because I couldn't find an ending. That is, until we exchanged gifts and I received a tube of shiny new lip gloss! Better late than never. And for those of you that have been asking for the next blog, here it is. Meglio tardi che mai.
Friday, December 2, 2011
62 Bold Snowflakes
He told me that she was going to have it done a couple of weeks ago. He said that she's always hated her nose and she finally decided to change it. It actually didn't seem that strange to me. (Not her nose....but the idea of changing it!) She HATED it, she had the money and she thought it would make her feel better, so why not? To each his own, I thought. I really thought it! Believe it or not, this is a phrase I'm working on adopting.
The day of the surgery I sent my friend a text to pass on my good wishes to his wife. I tried to insert a smiley face with a smaller, cuter nose. I searched the keyboard to come up with something unique but ended up resorting to "options" and picked one of the readymade faces. This made me smile and wonder if you could actually google "nosejob" and there might be an "options" heading and you could pick your new nose. Probably.
Anyway, I met my friend for lunch a few days ago and he said that everything went well with the nose, but then he started talking about her jaw. Her jaw? I thought it was her nose? He said, "Yes. She had rhinoplasty, but she also had her jaw reshaped." I asked him why. I'd accepted the nose job relatively easily, but the jaw I didn't get. He told me that the doctor had proposed it and it seemed like it would really look great, so she did it. And this is where I'm still in the adoption phase of that famous phrase. Why could I "to each his own" her nosejob, but not her "jawjob"? And instead of just silently accepting the idea (which you know I find impossible) I went on for a bit about how this seemed different because she'd really hated her nose and she'd finally done something about it, but she'd never really hated her jaw and then changed it on a whim. Shouldn't we just accept what we have? Shouldn't we be strong enough to believe in ourselves "as is" with hopes that how we look shouldn't make that big of a difference? I had a lot more of those "shouldn't we..." ideas that I shared with him, but will spare you.
When I was sure that he'd had about enough of me, I went back to the studio to clean. That's when I found an envelope filled with little handcut snowflakes that I'd made a long time ago for a Christmas card. I considered throwing them away but instead, opened the envelope and took them out one by one for a closer look. It was just as I'd expected. No two were alike. They were really cool! And the fact that they were all different made them even cooler. But is it true that no two snowflakes are alike or was this another one of those things I'd been taught as a kid and was foolish enough to go on believing? I checked. According to a National Geographic article from October 2010, experts are in agreement the likelihood of two being identical is next to impossible.
As I pedaled home I thought about writing something about the nosejob. Then I thought about writing about the snowflakes. That's when it hit me that they could go together. One is about someone going to great lengths to change her differences and the other is about finding beauty in something because it's different. To each his own, I guess.
So I started writing and putting the two together and thinking about how it made me feel. It really hadn't dawned on me earlier when I'd delivered my "shouldn't we accept" monologue, but here's something that makes me think I owe someone an apology. I color my hair. I do it because I think it makes me look better and I like how it makes me feel. Sound familiar? I didn't accept what I had. And apparently I wasn't strong enough to believe in myself "as is" with hopes that how I look shouldn't make that big of a difference. It seemed to me like I was coloring my hair for the same reasons that she was having plastic surgery.
I've run this idea by a few people (including my hairstylist) and no one agrees with me. They say that a nosejob and reshaping your jaw are much bigger deals than coloring your hair. Okay. I agree that a nosejob is major surgery and risky and permanent (at least until you google nosejob and click on "options" again) and changing your hair color isn't any of that. However, my rant on the jaw reshaping had nothing to do with the idea of the risk of major surgery. It was merely a rant on how crazy I thought it was that someone would consider changing something about their appearance instead of accepting it. And if I make it that basic, I think I'm guilty of the same offense. It seems like now's the time to sign the adoption papers on that phrase and own it. (so to speak!)
To each his own.
Who would've thought that finding a little envelope full of snowflakes would lead to my acceptance of plastic surgery? Some of you may be reading this thinking that I'm the last person in the world to say, "To each his own." It's funny, as much as I like to use it on myself or have it used on me (living in an apartment in Paris with the bathroon in the hall, wearing miniskirts on my bike, buying secondhand clothes, eating Big Boy hot fudge cake for breakfast) it's true (but sad) that I'm not always the first to accept those differences in others. But, this whole "rhinoplasty hair coloring comparison" has really started to make me think before I speak and with enough practice I'll stop speaking and then eventually hopefully I won't even think the judgmental thought!
And last but not least, in my research for this blog (you're right, it's not really worthy of research) I googled the phrase. Then I did my usual cross-referencing in Italian. I decided to see if there was something similar in my Dictionary of 1000 Italian Proverbs. It seemed rather unlikely that I'd find anything under the word "own" but I tried it. It lead me to the word "pasta" (don't all roads lead to pasta in my life?!) and here's the proverb:
Ognuno puo' far della sua pasta gnocchi.
My amateur translation of that is, "Everyone can make gnocchi from their pasta." The English equivalent that appears below it is, "Be bold with what is your own." That's my kind of phrase, no? But doesn't that really mean that I shouldn't be coloring my hair?
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