I was out last week with a group of friends to celebrate a 40th birthday. The birthday girl’s husband had reserved a private room at a local bar, opened the bar to us, and made sure the snacks were abundant. I didn’t try any of the snacks. I know this because I was happily keeping my custom-printed cup full of cocktails instead. It was gearing up to be a fantastic night.
When the timer on our private room expired, we moved upstairs for the band. At this point the remaining group was a heaping handful of close friends, all married, all spouses accounted for, and me. The single woman. I am used to being the only single person in a group of married people. I show up to most social events alone. I don’t bring a “crutch” date (another single girl friend or a married person that is out without her husband). I just go everywhere alone. I mean let’s face it, folks: I am alone when it comes to couples events.
So…we were – how should I say this politely – loose with drink. And ready for some dance therapy. Cue birthday girl to the stage! Said birthday girl drags “the posse” of girl friends with her. And oh, what fun. I love to dance. Music lifts me right out of the world where we are all firmly planted, and I escape into the rhythm, music and vibe. And that was where I was delightfully lost when a man took my hand and helped me off the stage.
Then I found myself standing face-to-face with my EX-HUSBAND! No shit! I can’t make this kind of tragic crap up. He is saying something. My friends are staring and starting to think…who’s the guy? (Wink, wink, nudge, nudge). I pull my ex away from the speakers to hear what in the world he would want to say to me at the very bar where he spent an outrageous amount of our money drinking while he was cheating on me and tearing our marriage to shreds. But I am hopelessly curious (and stupid).
Yep, you guessed it. I got the “I really, really miss you. I always loved you” drunken-goo-goo-eyed pick-up line. I was speechless. If you know me, “speechless” is very, very, very rare. I stuttered. My knees felt weak. I shouted over the band, “Where is your wife?” He didn’t answer. He just repeated the line about missing me and loving me. I took a breath, regrouped my courage, and resorted to a one-liner to cover up my devastation. “Of course you miss me, I am fabulous.” I walked off.
Don’t be impressed. I immediately marched outside, where it took me 20 minutes, two friends, a strong drink, 2 cigarettes, and a face full of streaming tears to get my ass ready to return to the dance floor. When I returned to the dance floor, I closed my eyes and let the music carry me away.
What is remarkable about this story is that it is not remarkable at all. This happens to people all the time.
The week before, my ex-lover showed up at STUFF during our Wings of Hope event to say “hello”. He had been driving by and thought it would be a good idea to stop and catch me in front of my store (where I can’t walk away). And then he came back a second time to bring me food he had been cooking all day with his wife, kids and close family friends.
And, if that wasn’t enough, two years ago at the holidays I was dating a man (who chose to compare me to “new car smell” and classify me as “one of his obsessions” on Facebook after I asked for a break). This man has called, emailed and come to the store multiple times over the last few weeks looking for me. At least he offered help and shopped.
These men that I shared my heart, my mind, my body, and a small part of my soul with never once stopped to think about me. Not once. They just marched all over my personal space, my feelings, and my life. They showed no respect for me, my family, or my business. I don’t seek them out. I haven’t played games. I haven’t posted veiled (or direct) references on Facebook about them. I have left them alone.
“The holidays” make men and women want to couple. I get it. I feel its powerful pull every day in November and December, too. After the first week of January it fades, and I fall back into my natural state. I too want to fall in love again. I want a husband and a big crazy combined mess of a family. But, in the meantime, I want to avoid stomping on the very people that I cared for deeply…and I want to avoid them stomping all over me.
These ridiculous happenings have left me sad, frustrated, exposed, raw and lonely. But, they have also left me proud that I have the courage to stand alone, even when I don’t want too.
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On achingly beautiful days – days full of falling leaves, crisp air and sunshine – cancer lives with us. It doesn’t present itself, it just waits for us to find it.
We at STUFF spend months preparing for our holiday open house – Wings of Hope – every year. This year, November 5th and 6th will be the days at STUFF that are meant to remind us that when one of us has cancer, we all have cancer. The days will be full of laughter, tears, food, drink, smiles and friendship.
We hope you will join us at Wings of Hope and shop. We will proudly donate a part of your purchase to benefit cancer research at the KU Cancer Center. Our friend Susan Henke Miller showed us the way years ago – to keep cancer on the run we need piles and piles of research.
Could someone please explain to me why Mother’s Day is in May? You know, that delightful month when every mother wants to rip her ever-loving hair out of her head and who mumbles as she falls into bed each night, “How many days until summer break?”
Instead, I am a mother of one little girl, one dog, and one store that I co-parent with my sister. And my life works…most days.
After surviving weeks of work, parenting, some family needs, and personal strain, I marched into Art Fair weekend in Brookside this past Friday with a smile on my face – and bags under my eyes.
I was off to work. Sloane and I are deeply committed to both AIDS Walk and our store, and it was Art Fair weekend in Brookside, darn it. We had to divide and conquer and be both places at once.
So, while Sloane and Mom had my offspring and I was at work, it managed to get super-duper fab-u-lous-ly busy. By the time my daughter came to me after the Walk, I was turning in circles while we shuffled her suitcases and clothes to get her ready for her next big adventure – an overnight! On Sunday, she was joyful at the Paul Mesner Puppets with my mother’s girlfriend – season tickets must be used! – and played with them until I could get off work finally at 6:30 pm.
We two immediately hit Bo Ling’s to celebrate surviving the weekend and to spend some quality time together without me having to cook or clean. (I love their quiet booths at times like this.) We did it! We survived the past few weeks and the endless weekend…and it wasn’t too bad. Actually, it was pretty normal for most working families with kids.
We also have to rally as a family for me to go to Texas with my dad and stepmom to meet with a doctor at MD Anderson because last month my dad was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.
Sloane and I both know we are not not much different from every other mother we know. We are all crazy-busy, we are all juggling too many balls in the air, we are all confused, tired, stressed, and a bit slap happy. And we sometimes find some balance in sharing our collective craziness. The week I laid out for you is so similar to countless mothers’ weeks that, frankly, I know I am not special or unique.
It is finally Christmas Eve, and we are snuggled in at Sloane’s home. We closed the store at 5:00 today, and the last two gifts we sold were to two different young men for their grandmothers. The day was filled with quirks and lots of laughter. We had to drop one of the cash drawers on the floor from three feet to get it to open…. A customer had to tell Casey what an item number was after Sloane had told her three times…. The Minsky’s pizza guy told us he would miss us next week while we are away from the store…. And, yes, we popped a bottle of champagne at 12:30 to share a mimosa toast with our shoppers – which may explain some of the quirks.
