Can I make a confession: I cringe a little when woman feel the need to defend how smart they are or how feminist they are and watch the housewives. Men never feel the need to do this when they spend their Sundays watching men butt wrestle each other (or whatever football is). I enjoy watching narcissistic woman yell at each other AND I REFUSE TO FEEL BAD ABOUT IT. We choose our down time. My husband is always trying to make me care about my TV choices, as he watches some golfer pretending to be Jack Nickelson, try to put a ball in a hole in between Viagra commercials. Sorry (not sorry) but I would rather listen to Jules talk about her cut up vagina any damn day. Does this make me smart. No. Does it make me dumb. No. It makes me relax. And maybe feel a little better about my non-cut up vagina.
Here’s the thing. I don’t want your life advice. I don’t need you to tell me I could “lose a little of that weight” or how eating breakfast is important. I got that. I know that. I don’t care about that and I probably never will.
This is partially my fault. I forgot my headphones, which left me wide open. This trainer sensed my weakness and pounced. He opened with a highfive because that must be the first lesson they teach you in personal training school. Instead of Always Be Closing, it’s Always Be Highfiving. This trainer proceeded to look me over and ask me what my fitness goals were. I said just to maintain my weight and get away from my children. Appalled he asked “Don’t you want to lose that little bit of extra weight and tone up?” Um. No sir. I do not. I like a soft layer of fat. Also I prefer my “little bit of extra weight” to not be talked about by strangers. It’s kind of a social contract that the rest of the fucking world abides by.
He then talks about the importance of adding mass & eating breakfast. He goes on and on and then asks if I’m following. I say simply and honestly, “No.” but dead eyes and zero response does not deter him in the least. He continues to talk about how he can’t understand how people (me) are okay with just maintaining. Don’t I want to push myself and make the most of the time at the gym. I do not reply in fear that it will somehow continue the conversation but this is my response: No. I do not. Me and mediocrity: We’re friends. Old friends. We love each other. I don’t need a body that misrepresents who I am as a person. I like a body that says, “I’m trying. Just not that hard.” I want to enjoy my life and my time at the gym. I want to drop my kids off so I can walk/run, do leisurely squats, see how Oprah doings. I have goals. They just vary from yours.
So trainer, I get that you have a job and I respect the hustle. I let you talk. I let insult my gym work ethic, talk about my weight and reprehend me for not eating breakfast. And I don’t even care about that. What I DO care about is you did that for 7 minutes. This time is precious to me. I have children to ignore and an Oprah magazine to read. So if you must be a pushy needledick. Fine. Just do it quickly.
I went with Judge Judy because I basically want Judy to raise my kids. Plus there are lots of life lessons the party goers can learn such as: “Beauty fades, dumb is forever” (featured on her cake).
I love texting his friends pretending to be him. I basically have three running themes: inspirational quotes, fart medicine/fart cancer, and his love of the show Bones (which he has never seen).
Here are some examples:
Me (with husbands phone): “Shoot for the moon, even if you miss, you’ll end up among the stars.”
Me: Sorry man, meant to send that to myself. I’ve been trying to get myself pumped every morning. You should try it.
Me: “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” Just let that marinate for a while. You’ll thank me later.
Husband: “Can you text Chris and tell him we will be about 15 minutes late.”
Me: Sorry man, the pharmacy was fresh out of my fart medicine. So it looks like we’ll be about 15 minutes late.
Chris: Fart medicine?
Me: Yeah, for my fart cancer. I guess my butt farts are so gross that my butt got fart cancer. It’s treatable but I have to stay away from beans.
Me: ALERT: The sexual tension between Bones and Booth has reached an all time high.
Friend: You should really be locking your phone.
Me: The same way Bones locked her heart to Booths the first 6 seasons.
Friend: Lock your phone & get your wife help.
So friendship is crazy. Strike that, I’m crazy and I have friends. I discovered this when I was talking about how weird it was that a friend was sensitive a something that seemed pretty trivial. Then it hit me. I have done that. Been totally sensitive about something that in hindsight was not a big deal. It’s like I’m head fucking myself.
So here’s what happened to make me have this epiphany: friend A comes over, I mention that friend B’s shitty co-worker had her (probably) shitty baby. We all love terrible co-worker stories. Friend A is upset that Friend B never told her about the baby. She mentioned it a few times and seemed hurt. I thought it was a strange thing to be upset about. I mean, who really cares? I’m sure I just happened into this news.
Then it hit me. I’ve done this. Only mine is MUCH more ridiculous. I once got upset with this same friend because she took a swim class with her son and didn’t invite me. Like moped about it for months. Trying to come up with ways to “approach” the subject. THANK GOD I DIDN’T. Looking back it makes NO sense. This is one of my best friends, but we don’t have the type of relationship that we do everything together. We’ve been close friends since junior high and we basically have talked on the phone 10 times. We text A LOT but unless it’s an emergency (like we’re out of wine or Dorinda’s meatball of a boyfriend made a sex tape) then we don’t call.
So I confess and tell her that a few years ago I was hurt she didn’t invite me to a swim class. I thought since we lived in the same town, it would of been a nice way to meet up and I was probably feeling jealous that she was in a mom’s group and seemed to have more local “mom” friends. When I told her this, she laughed and stated that she was probably just trying to shield me from her borderline colic baby. She also reminded me that that her first few months with her son were not zen filled moments of bliss. She struggled. I had pictured her strolling into swim class with all her new cool mom friends, doing magic baby laps with their perfect babies, probably in fucking bikinis with their stupid post baby abs showing and that wasn’t her reality. It was my reality for her.
In real life, all new moms are tired. And scared. And fucking tired.
Also, this is not a new friendship. I should have known that we are solid. My sweet friend has always supported me and been a really good friend. Still at that time I couldn’t see it. Just like our other friends being hurt over not getting a small piece of information. It often doesn’t have to do with what the other person is doing. It has to do with where you are with yourself. I was feeling insecure about my new “mom” life, so I was sensitive about a swim class. Had I not been insecure, her taking a swim class would have been a blip on my radar.
So I think it’s important to examine why you are upset about something. Get to the core. Maybe that person is a toxic needledick. But maybe it’s in your head. If your happy with yourself, you tend to not sweat the small stuff (esp. in friendships) but if your not, the small stuff hurts. So check yourself before you wreck yourself. And your friendships.