Before I begin, I really don’t think this post has to be gender-specific, which is why I called this “What’s in Your Bag” and not “What’s in Your Purse” or “What’s in Your Murse.”
I have puh-lenty of male friends who carry messenger bags, laptop bags, recyclable grocery bags, and bags shaped like puppies.
I’m not even sure this is limited to bags. I think what I’m about to discuss has pertained to my desk drawers at work and certainly to That One Junk Drawer I know we all have, so don’t pretend your home doesn’t have one. Sometimes, you just have to toss a bobby pin in the Junk Drawer in case a situation arises and you need it in that room.
So I sat down with the coffee that I purchased because I didn’t know how to make it and considered what sorts of things I could cover in a How To blog. I once tried to write a beginners sewing blog, because I thought it’d be fun for readers to try to learn how to sew while I posted my sewing projects to demonstrate how easy it took practice Continue reading “What Not To How To”
Look, I get the idea behind that famous quote given with great, protective confidence by President FDR. There shouldn’t be anything to fear but fear itself. Fear is the reason we have fear. Why, just last week, my bedroom door shut itself and The Sweet Baboo (pictured in this post) was so scared that he couldn’t decide if he should hide under the bed or sit next to me and, in the wise words of The Taylor Swift, literally Shake It Off. He wisely chose to cuddle me and shake for a while. Like we’ve all done, he was only fearing nothing, or fearing fear. The Invisible. The possibilities that his little puppy mind had created for why the door had closed by itself. If I could speak Puppy, I could have told him that the wind from my open window closed it.
I, on the other hand, have some very reasonable fears. Let me first make a quick list of things that I am not afraid of so you can put this in perspective:
Blindly trying new things
Making a fool of myself in public (which is basically the basis of this blog)
See that thing on the right side of my page? It says something like, “Want to be like me? Read like me.” and lists the blogs that I follow. One of my favorites is Just in Queso, who writes with such fantastic wit, I adore it. She’s not screaming, “I’M HILARIOUS! READ HOW FUNNY THIS IS!” with her writing. She’s just like, “La la la, what? Did I just drop a funny line? Huh.”
Anyway, what’s strange is that I was going to nominate her for a Liebster Award yesterday, but decided to give a shout to newer blogs. But while I whipped that up, she — my current fave — nominated me!
I was going to wait a while to answer her questions, but lucky for you —
Remember when we would line up by height in grade school? All of us kids would stretch our little bodies as tall as we could and rush to the wall that our teacher pointed to. The tallest kid already knew s/he belonged on one end, the shortest two would check to see if either had grown taller than the other to see who belonged at the end of that side. The rest of us would decide whose heads were above the others and walk up and down the line to choose our place. Throughout the early grades, I was actually toward the tall side of that line.
Then I abruptly stopped growing while the other kids continued to grow.
The tallest I’ve been is what shoes will allow. So maybe 5’3”. Um, and a half. I cannot stress enough how important that half inch is. I really worked hard on it and without heels, my true height is 5’1.5″. I reached my full height in 7th grade, but because I only had one growth spurt, I’ve been patiently waiting to gain another 3‑4 inches.
The thing is, I’m not abnormally short. By definition, a Little Person is 4’10” or less. Look it up. However, I’m pretty sure I’m living a different experience worth writing about that people of an average-to-tall height don’t even know about.
I was going to write a whole deal about how I’ve recently caught myself doing things that maybe most people don’t do, but the post was getting too long. It turns out I do a lot of strange things.
I know. You’ve spit your coffee/Kool-Aid/morning martini out with wonderment at the idea that I am maybe a little quirky. Perhaps you’ve known me for decades, maybe years, or you might’ve just met me three blog posts ago. But the very idea that I will end up writing many posts about my strange behavior is, indeed, mind boggling.
Picture it: Iowa, 1992. I was in elementary school filling out a bio of sorts on prison-suit-orange construction paper to tape on the wall alongside my classmates’ bios written on various colored square papers. We were to answer questions such as, “What is your nickname? How many siblings do you have? What makes you happy? What makes you sad?” and the like. I took care to answer these questions in my best cursive, a skill I’d been perfecting for two years.
Nickname: Meehan, because before I was a skilled cursive writer, I accidentally wrote my “g” backwards in my name on a drawing that was hung at school. My oldest brother saw it and, TADA, a name was born.
Side note: Do doctors shout, “TADA! Your baby has been born!” After the birth of a child? I’m going to do a blog of questions I have for parents, and that is one of many.