Cranky Fibro Girl

Harnessing the healing power of snark

Catching Up On Some Correspondence

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Dear My Hair:

We were doing so well together. What happened? Do you like spending every day in a Time Out Ponytail?

Dear Shameless Raccoon Who Keeps Blatantly Flaunting Your Presence On Our Deck In The Middle Of The Day:

We are not your personal, snack-filled vending machine.

GO AWAY!

Dear My Pain Meds:

I know we’ve been spending  a lot of time together lately. I so appreciate that you are always there for me when I need you.

But could you p-l-e-a-s-e stop trashing my nervous system with your raucous, frat-boy party-like side effects as I wean myself off of you?

KTHXBAI.

Dear My Body:

I am so sorry that I took this pain-free morning as a sign that I could do 30 minutes of high-intensity aerobics, 10 minutes of Dance of Shiva, and then15 minutes raking up cat hair from my office floor.

Sometimes I get being-sick amnesia and then I do stupid things. Sorry about that.

Dear My Mood Cycling, Bipolar, Borderline Personality Disorders:

Dude-seriously: CHILL THE F***OUT ALREADY.

I’ve kind of got a lot on my plate right now.

I mean, did you not read the part about the Raccoon-Slaying, Amnesiac, Exploding Hair Rebellion? Geez.

Work with me here, people.

Dear My Primary Care Physician Of 13 Years Who Retired Last December 31st And Did Not Tell Me About It:

NOT cool dude. Not cool.

Dear My Kindle:

I love you. Please marry me.

Be there in a sec.

XOXO

 

 

Man, I Feel Like A Woman!

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I was thinking about the whole idea of political correctness as I set out this morning to buy some poultry feed. It was kind of an odd thing for me to be doing, given that we don’t actually own any poultry or live on a farm, and doing something so outside of my normal routine got my mental wheels spinning.

From what I can tell, the message of political correctness seems to be that while we respect and honor each other’s differences we don’t actually focus on them when we interact with each other, but rather focus on our common humanity. While this is a nice idea in theory, I have found in my life that I do occasionally need to take some differences into account, especially when I find myself in an extremely masculine environment like, for example, a feed store, and it is painfully obvious that I do not fit in.

My personal M.O. in a situation like this is to morph into “helpless female” mode: big eyes, self-deprecating smile, and a speech that starts out with some kind of comment like, “Well, my husband usually takes care of this for me, but today he sent me and I really don’t know what I’m doing.” This is not at all politically correct, but it is extremely effective. This is why I am able to do things like buy poultry feed, get our knives sharpened, talk to the internet customer service people, and get our car serviced. In these situations I am more than happy to let people who actually know what they are doing tell me what the best thing is for me to do, and then pay them for their services or products.

There are some people with whom this approach doesn’t work, such as one gentleman I met while I was working at a construction company. He firmly believed that because I was female and was working in the office, it was my God-Given Responsibility to make him coffee. Now, I don’t drink coffee, so it never occurred to me to make any (not to mention the fact that I don’t actually know how). Also, I have found that people who do drink coffee can be very particular about how it is made, and it is better to just let them do it themselves. But when I tried to explain this to him, this was his response: “Well, my wife didn’t help me build our house, but she still gets to live there.”

This approach also seems not to work with techo-guys who work at computer stores, as I discovered last fall when my husband and I had to make some technology related purchases. We decided to split up the list and I was deputized to go and get one particular item. I memorized exactly what he told me to ask for, went up to the counter, turned on my “vibe”, and …nothing. Not only nothing, but I was actually passed by at least three different sales guys. However, the second that my husband started walking in my direction, salespeople FLEW over from all corners of the store, tripping over themselves in their eagerness to sell him something. (Not that I am bitter).

It is also fun to flip this around and to not act like a stereotypical female with someone who is expecting it, like my mom. She grew up in the 1950’s when women went to finishing school, wore gloves, discussed etiquette, and always had a hot dinner on the table for their husbands even if they also had a job outside the home. When I was first married she and I had a lot of conversations like this:

My mom: “Well, I’d better let you go now so you can get dinner ready.”

Me: “I’m not cooking.” Or even better, “It’s [my husband’s] turn to cook tonight.”

My mom: Deep gasp, followed by silence, followed by a quiet, “Oh.”

As Shania Twain sings, “The best thing about being a woman/is the prerogative to have a little fun.”

And, I do.

Missed Communication

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Sometimes I think it would be nice if all personal interactions were as easily understood as those between me and my cats.

When they are happy they rub their head against my leg. When they are put out or indignant they poo in the tub. When they want attention they insert themselves in between me and whatever else I’m doing, and stick their furry little hiney right in my face to make sure that I inhale the maximum amount of fur possible and am unable to focus on anything but them. When they’re really angry they come and sit on my desk while I’m working, but facing away from me with their tail switching back and forth angrily, while aiming a malevolent glare in my direction. (Well, as malevolent as a 6 pound ball of grey fluff can be).

But when humans get involved, communication gets a lot more complicated.

I was thinking about that earlier this week as I was having lunch with my husband. He was upset about a news story he’d recently heard. It involved a “hot button” issue, the kind that causes all connections to the rational, logical part of your brain to shut down and instead leads you directly into highly charged, emotional (over)reacting. Which then leads to conversations where the people around you, who are not directly involved in your conversation, could accidentally overhear certain words or phrases and give you concerned looks as they begin to edge cautiously toward the door.

About six years ago I found myself in a similar situation, but due to the extremely different emotional climate in which we were all living back then, this time it was really funny rather than a cause for concern. But it won’t seem so at first, so just bear with me.

Six years ago this summer my family gathered to say goodbye to my grandmother, who was dying of cancer. Her wish was that when she died, she simply be wrapped in a white sheet before she was placed in her coffin. This was simple, and beautiful, and did not at all take into consideration the fact that this would require there to be A Person In Charge Of Sheets. Since my mom is the oldest child in her family, and I am the oldest child in my family, this duty fell to the two of us.

So we headed off to the local Giant Shopping Mart, but unfortunately there was no section labeled, “Linens for the Soon-To-Be-Deceased”, or, “Easy Coffin Accessories”, so we were forced to stand in the middle of the sheet and towel aisle and have the following conversation:

“Do you think a queen sized sheet will be big enough to wrap all the way around her?”

“I don’t know. I think it depends on whether the body is laid end-to-end or diagonally.”

“Will a top sheet be enough to wrap the body in, or do you think we need a fitted sheet too?”

Are you imagining what you would be thinking if you overheard this conversation? Because my mom and I sure were. As if the situation weren’t stressful enough already, we decided to go ahead and come up with a list of all the ways someone could misinterpret what they were hearing and decide to report us to the authorities. (Sometimes being an avid reader with a powerful imagination can actually be a disadvantage).

I’m happy to say that we did survive that shopping trip, but maybe you can see why I sometimes envy cats their simple, direct method of communication. Although I somehow doubt that coughing up a hairball and then rolling over to lick my private parts would really have been an appropriate response to this situation.