Monday, June 04, 2007

What’s In Your Cone?

Do you like yourself? Me neither.

I think it’s the way you eat spaghetti that bothers me the most.

Just kidding. But seriously, stop slurping your noodles. Nobody likes a noodle slurper.

Sometimes I wonder who I really am and whether I really do like me. Do all people wonder that or has everybody figured it all out and nobody bothered to send me an email to let me in on it?

Sure, you can send me emails about everything from Bill Gates giving away his millions to anyone on the planet who agrees to believe everything they read; to how to increase the size of my manliness so my woman will stop staring at other guys; to pictures of fluttering fairies that have the power to bring me immediate wealth and health…or to kill me while I’m sleeping if I don’t send them to every person I’ve ever known.

But let somebody figure out the answer to the biggest question in life and mums the word.

I think part of the problem with knowing who I am has to do with the fact that everyone else thinks they know me.

My parents think I’m the ten-year-old girl who cried when one of her brothers clocked her in the head with a rock and made her bleed. (Still have the scar, by the way.) So to them, I am the one in the family from whom all things upsetting must be hidden or I will cry and spontaneously pass out.

That’s a little true. I have been known to cry and I find passing out is a good way to avoid many unpleasant situations.

My kids think I have the answer to all life’s problems and they like to give me pop quizzes from time to time just to test me. If a Mom left Albuquerque at 1:00 PM, driving 75 mph in a Ford Focus with one window down and the passenger’s side front tire a little low, how long would it take her to bake 250 cupcakes for her son’s entire school with only one egg and a fever of 103?

As I am older than my offspring and therefore have accumulated more knowledge simply because I’ve been around longer, I do have the solution to lots of things life can throw at them. (The answer to the quiz, by the way, is 1 hour. That’s fifty minutes to yell at her son and ten to go to the store and buy 250 cupcakes.)

My friends think I am a very loud, over the top woman who can be counted on to say what everyone else in the room is thinking.

I guess that is sort of me as well. Sometimes I forget to change the filter between my brain and my mouth and stuff leaks out my lips.

My husband thinks of me as the warden who patrols the halls of our house looking for even the slightest sign of noncompliance. If the hand towel in the bathroom is dirty or giant man shoes have been left in a designated no shoe zone, he knows it is likely I am going to sound the sirens and rain fire down upon him.

Between you and me, maybe I am a little warden-ish when a situation calls for it. They say marriage is an institution and every institution has to have someone who runs the place. I voted for me and since I ran unopposed, I’m it.

I guess maybe I’m sort of all those people, but I’m not sure how well I like any of them. I think I’d rather be a Vanilla Woman instead.

You know the kind. Perfect from head to toe, never screws up anything, never says or does anything inappropriate, always has her life under control and doesn’t allow anything to upset her apple cart. When she walks into Baskin-Robbins, she chooses vanilla… one a cup…always. No wild flavors or nuts in her cone.

While she’s taking tiny nibbles, I however am the one with a giant bucket of ten different flavors covered in nuts and whipped cream with hot fudge all over my face and most definitely some dribbled down the front of my shirt…who is embarrassed she’s an ice cream-zilla, but can’t seem to help herself and knows for sure as messy as it is, she’ll probably order the exact same thing next time because she just can’t help herself.

If you, or someone you know, really does like yourself and has found a way to keep it all together in Vanilla perfection, be sure to email me. If you promise I’ll win the lottery, I’ll even send it to all my friends.


Copyright © 2004-2007, Sherri Bailey
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Catwoman said...

I am also a warden. Don't let me catch someone in my house drinking from the milk carton, because that gets them thrown into isolation.

Jami said...

What are you? Crazy? (No, don't answer it!) No one in their right mind likes who they are ... and most of the ones in their left mind are totally disgusted by who they are. I like who you are and because my opinion is always right, you should like who you are, too. Of course, that gets back to the old "I'm in charge" thing, so regardless of what anybody else thinks, in your world (the one inside your head) your opinion is the only one that counts.

BTW, the only use for vanilla ice cream is to be the foundation for the Sears Tower Rainbow Sundae In Giganto Waffle Cone Special.

And passing out is also a good way to deal with boredom. Think about it: "passing out", "passing time". Coincidental phrasing? I think not.

Jami said...

Oh, and are you going to make the "passing gas" connection or am I?

Sher said...

Then I have to admit I would be thrown into isolation. Hi. My name is Sher and I drink out of things I shouldn't. Pop bottles, milk jugs...but not the toilet. Never the toilet.

I won't answer it, but I believe the crazy is implied. (Note to self: never be around Jami when she's bored.)

Nancy said...

I never was content with myself ... I was always trying an inner and outer make over. Trying is the operative word.

I quit trying, and you know what... I finally am happy with myself. I might not be happy with little things on a day to day basis, but as a whole, yep, I like myself.

I still hold out hope for the Vanilla Women who I know deep down inside just want to order chocolate!

Sher said...

Way to go, Nancy! You really think they wanna order chocolate, btw? One can hope.

LarryLilly said...

Most men are too conceited not to like themselves, and most women until they hit near 40 are never happy with themselves. I did the typical teen dating/marriage thing and it went well unti I was approaching 50. Then my first wife died, and I entered a whole new world, but guess what, I found women older than 40 to be great, in fact amazing. They got past all that crap in their minds about who and what they were, and they became free. Not cheap, but free LOL.

So dont despair, a womans prime isnt until she is 42. So think of the glory years ahead.

Age is a number, aging is a choice, and old is never an option.

Sher said...

It's true....I am amazing. And I'm older than 42. Jiminy Christmas, what am I worried about?