Skirting the Issue #109
Ten weeks since my last post? For reals? Amazing how life jumps up and bites you in the butt, while a tornado whips those calendar pages into a frenzy.
Been uber busy. Life on a Texas ranch, crazy red-neck relatives with four names (endearing as they were!), blind dates with large animal vets, and all that squire dancing and frog giggin’ just weren’t for yours truly. While it was good fun to try on a completely different life for a minute, I realized with stunning clarity one evening that this was not to be. Walking into the TV room and seeing a dozen pairs of glazed-over eyes staring raptly at one episode of Honey Boo Boo and Duck Dynasty after another, I knew it was time to end this Hee Haw experiment and hoist myself back over the border to civilization.
I moved to a sprawling metropolitan area that is arguably one of the most beautifully designed cities in the nation and am coming round to some degree of normalcy. In the span of eight short weeks, my dance card holds Eric Clapton, Bryan Adams, and Willie Nelson. Oh yeah, that’s more better! Acquired a job working for yet another female dentist, and yes, they are ALL nuts, but in slightly different ways, which really keeps a girl on her toes. Think I’ll be dusting off the resume again soon, though. My boss is Meryl Streep in “The Devil Wears Prada”, except in scrubs. I guess I should have been suspicious when all my interviews were conducted in an empty office over a weekend, thus preventing me from observing the sad, dead, joyless eyes of my soon-to-be coworkers. This is a place where fun and exuberance come to die, a place where paranoia slow dances with dread. I guarantee you a giggle has never crossed the threshold of this dental practice. My folly for choosing employment based solely on not having to get on a freeway, when most folks I know have to commute 45 minutes to an hour one way.
The upside is that I live in a beautiful green belt on a lake, very tranquil and zen-like, completely opposite of the hell I was enduring one year ago. I go out of my way to create serenity and avoid cacophony and turmoil. My goal is quality of life, safety, and NEVER, EVER again encountering a monster in my closet.
One of my amazing girlfriends put the past two years of my life in perspective. “Very few of us get a do-over at age 60; this is a gift, relish it; gobble it up with a Texas-sized tablespoon.” Wise words that I fully intend to embrace.
A newish friend took me to two events with folks from their very social neighborhood shortly after I moved here. Both occasions went quite well. The third invitation with this group was for a Christmas party. Initial nervousness over, I was quite looking forward to it. Thirty pounds lost and rocking a knit black mini-skirt, I was having a blast. Time came to bid adieu. Now this particular skirt had given me some trepidation earlier, as it seemed quite loose and wiggly-jiggly. As we were bidding these good folks Happy Holidays and goodnight, I suddenly felt a disconcerting blast of arctic air. Wine-infused and full of holiday cheer, I looked down to see my adorable little size 8 skirt puddled at my feet. Thank you Lord for opaque black tights and a tunic top! With all the dignity I could muster in front of these virtual strangers, I bent down and resettled said enemy skirt around my waist. In the dead silence that followed my wardrobe malfunction, a sparkly twenty-something proclaimed, “Damn, that’s the most fun we’ve had all night. You rock girl!”
My renegade skirt and I will see you again shortly!