Shaking It With Wilma

As long as you’re here, I might as well tell you about my first crush. I was 7 years old and in the 2^nd grade.

Hold it right there. It seems that I’ve been liking boys for 48 years with a hideous lack of success. This revelation has just ruined my evening, thank you.

Pass the Kleenex and fudge, and let’s get back to my story.

I was a pleasant little girl with a big smile and a forehead to go with it. (See class photo below)

I can’t remember which of the boys in my class had caught my eye. Take your pick; they're all dreamy. I do remember that he often rode his bike down our street.

One Saturday morning I was on the front step of our house shaking the throw rugs while Mom mopped the floor inside. I was pretty proud of this chore and hoped that everyone driving by was noticing how big I was to have such an important job.

One of the rugs was brown shag, and as I shook it, it fluffed up and began to look a lot like fur. Well, like fur to a 7-year-old, anyway. It looked like something the Flintstones might wear and was just the right size to wrap around my body.  Hey, this was neat. People driving by would think Wilma Flintstone was shaking our rugs!

I continued shaking the rest of the rugs, which was more difficult now that I had to hold my arms pressed to my sides in order to keep my fur dress on.  In fact, I shook them all again because the neighbors were probably enjoying seeing Wilma Flintstone helping my mom with housework.

When I spotted the boy from my class coming down the street on his bike, I hugged my fur dress a little tighter and shook those rugs a little harder, hoping to get his attention as he pedaled past. After all, what boy wouldn’t be impressed with a girl who looked exactly like Wilma Flintstone?

He kept his eyes straight ahead as he went by, but I’m pretty sure he saw me. And I’m pretty sure he fell in love with me in my Wilma dress that day. And he never let on. I'm thinking he figured I was out of his league, poor boy.

The Downside of Hermitville

 

I work with people all day, and when I come home, I don’t feel like seeing or speaking to anyone until I go back to work in the morning. It’s not very warm and fuzzy, but it’s true. It has recently come to my attention that, because of this tendency toward hermitville, I have successfully eliminated nearly all opportunities for face-to-face encounters with human beings outside of work.

 

While this satisfies my hermit tendencies perfectly, it was decidedly inconvenient when I needed to talk over a big and possibly life-changing decision recently.

 

As I made and weighed lists and struggled with the pros and cons of the decision, I longed to kick it all around with a real person, someone who knew me well and was somewhat obligated to listen to me yammer on and on.

 

I am between BFFs and between men at the moment. (Note: It is best if these two states are not experienced simultaneously.) Therefore, there is no one in my life to perform the task of Sounding Board. Don’t feel sorry for me. I prefer this most of the time and created the situation myself. And, to be fair, I do have my parents and my children, but they all go into “Play it safe and don’t forget to keep your gas tank topped off” mode, as they should. I really wanted someone to weigh all the facts, know my heart and still possibly say, “Oh, just go for it. You only live once. What’s the worst that could happen?”

 

So, where was I going to find that someone on short notice?  You don't exactly drag in a Facebook acquaintance for a deep heart-to-heart about your future any more than you'd ask them to come take a look at a questionable mole on your back.

 

Speaking of impossible-to-see moles, I made an appointment to have my doctor look at a mole on my back that had me worried. He said it was just a patch of dry skin. Really?? I was paying roughly $185 for a patch of dry skin that a BFF or male companion could have diagnosed for free?

 

I was really tempted to get my money’s worth out of that visit: “So, Doc. I have a big decision I’d like to run by you….” He was somewhat obligated to listen to me, after all.

 

No, I didn’t drag him into it, but if I insist on maintaining this otherwise agreeable hermit status, I might just sneak in a BFF-ish chat next time I go in for a check-up. It’s nice to know there is someone somewhat obligated to listen to me yammer on and on, after all.