… … right up until I called my dad the wrong name.
Is it safe to say I’ll never be his favorite child?
(Originally posted on April 6, 2008…3:27 am. Would I have been this hard on myself during normal waking hours? Probably, yeah.)
In the wake of a recent anniversary, I have spent three days pondering my romantic history.
PAINFUL CONCLUSION: While I am sensible in most ways, where men are concerned, I am an absolute dolt and should be thrust into a convent immediately. Pity the poor convent!
Don’t get me wrong— it’s not that I’m a floozy. Not a bit. It’s just that I tend to hurt people.
While attending Steven H.’s senior recital this afternoon (rock on, Steve!), I realized that there are half a dozen men on this planet who have every right to hate my ugly guts.* Six men who dodge me, who avoid making eye contact.. Six men who use ME as their evidence that all women are evil.
I treated them badly.
Never on purpose, mind you! There are women who toy with hearts deliberately, who regard devastating men as wholesome recreation. “Break him before he can break you” is their motto.
I am not one of those women.
I am a woman who tries hard (too hard) to keep other people happy.
Sometimes, I tell men what they need to hear— not what needs to be said.
Sometimes, I need so badly to be held and reassured that nothing else matters.
Sometimes, I give men what I think they want— not what I want, or want to give.
Sometimes, I bite my tongue for weeks, months at a stretch.
Sometimes, I’m too dense to even REALIZE someone has grown deeply attached to me.
Sometimes, I am so afraid of hurting a man that I drag matters out… and create deeper wounds.
Funny that someone so polite and cautious can still inflict deep wounds. Funny that a shy, scruffy, mousy girl could ever hold any man’s attention in the first place. Funny that even the noblest, purest intentions can’t guarantee intelligent behavior.
I know, I know, this is all part of growing up…
But I’m still sorry. I did the best I could.
*Editor’s note: Steve sang Ralph Vaughn Williams’ Songs of Travel; if they don’t make you flinch as you recollect your own romantic shortcomings, nothing will.
I am now a college graduate. Henceforth, you may refer to me as “Bachelor of Music Education”. Or Rebekah. Or Luscious. The choice is yours.
What is missing from this picture?
That’s right; a tassel.
This cap and gown belong to Rachel Z., an ’09 graduate who graciously lent them to me . Yesterday was very windy, her tassel blew away before I reached the auditorium.
Conveniently, my friend Abe U. had bought two 2010 tassels and lent me his spare.
Maybe it’s silly to wear nylon robes and parade around an auditorium, but I had a fabulous day. I love good rituals, I love my fellow music majors, and I’ve loved my centuries as a college student. My family wasn’t able to attend the ceremony, but Mr. Jaunty and Sierra cheered for me, as did a fleet of church and school friends. Lovely.
No cap-tossing here, folks.
(For any worriers in the audience… Rachel wasn’t upset about the Tassel Situation, and I know of at least two other grads whose tassels escaped. I’ll check the Lost and Found tomorrow.)
Of all the numb-skulled, senseless “Wait, what?!” things I bought last year, The Hands Down Worst Purchase of 2009 was…
… two pair of Leg Avenue peachy-flesh-toned fishnet thigh-high stockings. I love fishnets, and I thought thigh-highs might suit me better than standard pantyhose.
In the words of Fastball, “How could I have ever been so blind?”
PRODUCT REVIEW: These Leg Avenue stockings come in one size only; 90-160 pounds.That should have warned me. Sure, they’re stretchy, but a 70-pound range? Please.
While the lace tops stretch nicely, the legs were big (baggy ankles) and much too long; though designed to be worn with a garter belt, they were long enough to hike up and tuck into my underwear. Hilarious, yes, but also hideous.
PERSONAL ISSUE: I carry 78% of my weight around my upper thighs. Knowing this about myself, why did I pay good money for lacy bands of elastic to dig into my unsuspecting Leg Chub®?
Because a photo would be both tasteless AND depressing as hell, I’ve provided the following illustration:
See my problem?
What was your most regrettable purchase of 2009? Bonus points for illustrations!
Oh, and if anyone taller than me with thighs of steel needs two pair of Leg Avenue stockings, I’ll cut you a deal.