Sunday, November 21, 2010

All of Your Cookies Are Belong To Me

This weekend, I have eaten at least four dozen cookies. I kid you not. I think that easily answers the question of why my clothes don't fit me. It's only partially my fault because I have absolutely no willpower, and RR simply would not stop making cookies. She was going to a gathering of friends, and they were all supposed to bring cookies. She didn't think she had enough. I pointed out that if there were seven people there, and they all brought only one dozen cookies, then that made seven dozen. That's 84 cookies. I think that's enough.

And then she made more cookies.
Justify Full
And then of course she had lots of leftovers, which she brought home.

And then she left me unsupervised for several hours.

So it's mostly her fault.

Today, I am going shopping with RR and our friend MJ, and they are two of the tiniest people I know, so I will get to feel extra fat. It will be kind of like the time in 10th grade when a friend I'll call Shanna went shopping with me and RR. At that time, I could have stood to lose maybe five pounds. Shanna, how to put this, Shanna was not a small girl. When RR tried on a dress, I thought, "oh, that looks nice on her," but Shanna said, "gosh, you make [JLR] and I feel like a couple of whales." "Uh, only one of us is a whale," was what I did not say but definitely thought. I get mean when I get insulted. But at least I only thought it, unlike Shanna, who felt free to speak for me the thoughts she assumed I was thinking. "Your tininess only serves to emphasize the hugeness of both me and your fat, fat sister, who, in my head, I refer to as Humpty Dumptiest."

Today, however, that statement would be kind of true. Standing next to RR and MJ, one cannot help but feel whale-like.

Last week I went shopping with my mom. I love my mom, I love spending time with her, and sometimes I even like shopping with her. But oftentimes, shopping with her can be an excruciating experience. When we made plans to go, I told her that I didn't want to be leaving the mall at 9:00 p.m. (when it closed), and she swore she was too tired to stay that late anyway. I guess she was right because we left at 8:50, and I really don't think she could have made it those last ten minutes.

It's my fault, I guess I should have been more clear. I should said, "I don't want to be leaving the mall at 9:00 p.m., and please take that not literally but in the way that you know I meant it, i.e., I don't want to be there for more than one or two hours, and any departure time close to 9:00 is too late."

My dad had been there with us for the first part, but he had to leave after about half an hour. I want to think that it's because he had gotten up really early that morning and was dead tired and not because at the Origins counter, my mom announced loudly and insistently to the lady working there that my dad was "obsessed" with getting rid of his blackheads. I think my dad really appreciated that.

Besides being mildly embarrassing, it's not a completely accurate statement, or at least I don't think so, because in my mind "obsessed with getting rid of blackheads" is not the same thing as "fascinated with pores and also with the way Biore strips work." My dad, my sister, and I are all very interested in things that other people seem to find mundane. We're a little bit like Rain Man, I guess.

Anyway, good ol' mom was on a roll that night. She also told the employees at every skin care/makeup counter we stopped at that I had The Rosacea. "AND SHE HAS TO BE CAREFUL ABOUT WHAT SHE PUTS ON HER FACE BECAUSE SHE HAS THE ROSACEA. YOU KNOW, THE ROSACEA. ON HER FACE. MAYBE I SHOULD SAY THAT AGAIN BUT LOUDER." And then I'd do a little half-hearted wave, to acknowledge that "yep, that's me. I'm defective."

Mom is not normally the type to attempt to embarrass her loved ones in public. Quite the opposite, in fact. But then again, Mom knows no secrets. By that I mean, she doesn't see the need to keep personal details private. She is not embarrassed by the whole world knowing everything about her, so maybe it doesn't occur to her that her children and husband are the complete and total opposite.

Turn about is fair play, though. I am pretty sure that I embarrassed her by my abrupt-to -the-point-of-rudeness treatment of the lady at the Lancome counter who was trying to put the pressure on Mom to buy me something that I had only casually mentioned that I was considering buying one day. I don't like pushy people.

I never buy Lancome anyway because in my mind, fairly or unfairly, I think it's for old ladies. This may be because my grandmother uses it. I am about ready to be upgraded to "old lady" status, though. I turn 35 next year, which I don't think makes me old, but let's face it, I've been an old lady inside for years now. And now my feet also smell old. Let me clarify. My feet do not smell like they've been around for sixty years. They smell like the kind of ointment that old people supposedly use. And they smell like that because I use Badger Balm, which smells like the kind of ointment that old people supposedly use. I started using it one day, and then I got used to it, and now I can't not use it. I don't know what it is about me but once I start using some kind of product, if I use it for more than a few days, it becomes mandatory. Years ago, I made it a habit to put on hand lotion before handling paper because I found it cut down on paper cuts, and now I cannot force myself to touch paper if my hands are not sufficiently moisterized. If someone tries to hand me paper when I have dry hands, I just stare at them.

So now I've gotten so used to that stupid Badger Balm that I can't even just put it on at night anymore. I now have to use it in the morning, too. If RR tries to talk to me before I have applied it to my feet, then all I can think is, "I CANNOT HEAR YOU MY FEET ARE DRY," or, sometimes, a more calm but still crazy-making "dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet dry feet." So I accept my fate of old-lady-smelling-feet.

Actually, I think old ladies tend to use perfumed lotions, so probably I smell like old man feet.

And now I will go eat some more cookies.

4 comments:

Deals On Wheels said...

Have you ever asked Trevor about my nightly moisturizing ritual? Yeah...my Badger Balms is Vaseline. I am pretty much keeping the company in business.

JLR said...

Well, that makes me feel better. For one thing, I'm not the only person with the problem. And you're younger than me, so by the time you are my age, your nightly ritual may be even more balm-y than mine is now. Second, Vaseline is even more old-lady-y than Badger Balm. So thanks for sharing and making me feel better about myself.

Deals On Wheels said...

I'm am glad I can help. I used to use something called UTTER BALM on my hands. My uncle gave it to me one particularly cold winter up in Syracuse when the temperature variation between outside and in made my hands a chapped nightmare. Yes, Utter Balm is used to help to keep cow utters from chaffing. I'm just saying...there are worse and more embarrassing things than Badger Balm

JLR said...

Ok, now I want utter balm. I mean, I don't, because you're right, that's way worse than Badger Balm. But if I had utter balm, then I could talk about how "utter-ly fantastic" it is.