Do you ever do this? You are walking somewhere and you come to a narrow space (like between a chair and a wall) that you need to try and fit through. Sometimes you have to ask the person to move the chair forward so you and your big a** can squeeze by. And sometimes, there is just enough space for you to slither past? I'm always amazed that, no matter how small the space, no matter how tiny the chair - in my mind - I can fit.
I guess this is what they call a "distorted" view of yourself.
At my husband and my 20th wedding anniversary party (three years ago), I surprised him with a Corvette. At the party I told a story to some friends, after giving the car to my husband, about a day I went to the nail salon.
On this day, I was feeling particularly fine in my skin. In those nail salons there are always other women thinking they look pretty fine and some do. On this particular day at the salon, I sat there having my nails done, glancing into the wall-to-wall mirrors in front of me at all the fine women around me and thought, "I'm looking okay. I'm not looking bad at all," feeling pretty fine about myself; sitting up straight and blending right in. Then, after my nails were done and I had paid the manicurist, I stood up in my high heeled boots and slim pants and walked outside and got into my VAN and drove away.
I told people at our party that I should have had that sleek new Corvette on that day I was feeling so fine and I told them how I felt so motherly walking out that door and getting into our big blue conversion van, with all those fine women watching (because women watch other women). I needed that Corvette to complete the vision I had in my head and the image I was so trying to present to all those fine women in the salon. But that's sooooo not my real life.
I am sooooo my mother's daughter. Sometimes I am just to uppity for my own good. Just about the time I'm feeling pretty fine, I walk through a trick door and climb into a VAN.
It's Friday night and it's 11:44 pm. All of my children are in bed now. I just went to check on all of my kids and found the remote to one of the down stair's TVs in The Boy's room and his light on; he always sneaks his light back on. I turned off the light, picked up the remote and went down stairs to do my nightly duties. I checked the laundry and found that Twin A had hung the last load for me. I picked up the stray dirty dishes sitting around on the family room tables, put the remote I found near the TV in the living room, noticed that Twin B had finished the dinner dishes like I asked her to do, wiped off the cook top, emptied the Frito crumbs from The Boy's lunch box, put the cats out the back door and locked it, poured myself a glass of ice tea, turned off the lights and came back upstairs, where there I adjusted the thermostat to 73 on the way back to my room.
This is my real life - morning rituals, afternoon rituals and nightly rituals. It's not the best job in the world, as it pays nothing, but it is a fine occupation.
On the upside ... once, when all the kids were at school and I was home alone ... I got the keys to that Corvette ... I slid down into that leather seat ... I put in my favorite Michael Bolton (Soul Provider) Cd ... cranked it up really loud and ... I drove up the road past that nail salon. I didn't get out ... but it still felt good living the dream, if only for a little while.