If you’re thinking about going away with someone for a romantic weekend, book the trip then go without him. You wouldn’t buy a car without a test drive, so why fly blind with a new cutie.
Try and find something colorful, like a family wedding to attend and then imagine what the weekend would be like if he were with you. Flying on the red eye. Struggling with connections. Checking into that cozy bed and breakfast that is reeeeeally cozy. Imagine sharing a 10 by 10 space connected to a postage stamp bathroom with your new honeybun.
Oh, and then it rains and your hair frizzes and you’ve got the wrong shoes and it takes you two hours to make yourself presentable instead of your modern girl half hour. How would he handle sitting in that tiny room watching the tiny TV while you struggle with hot curlers and flat irons and humidity that makes your mascara gunky? How would you handle the stress of knowing he’s bored and irritated and exasperated?
Then go to that rehearsal dinner and consider having to keep your sweet patootie entertained while catching up on all the family gossip. Just how many times would you stop a story to explain who Uncle Mike is and where your cousin Lisa went on her honeymoon and why this is such a really funny story? How much champagne would you drink if he were there? How much could you flirt if he were there?
And the wedding. Oh, my, the wedding. Imagine he’s come along because it’s a destination wedding someplace spiffy and now he spends one whole day of the short weekend stuck in a suit in a warm banquet hall listening to maudlin toasts instead of on the beach he can see through the windows.
And finally, think about the sex that may or may not be going on around all these activities. Would you really be having a good time or just providing the one thing you know he’ll enjoy the whole weekend. Is it delicious out-of-town sex or is it simply sorry-about-grandpa’s-ear-hair sex?
If you return from your test-drive weekend more determined than ever to spend a weekend away with your sweetie pie, then you may have found yourself a keeper. If you return slightly hung over and greatly relieved that he didn’t come with you, maybe you should stick to occasional overnights in town. There’s only so much togetherness some people can stand.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Yikes...
A few days ago I made a mistake. I walked into a room filled with people I don’t know in hopes of learning more about their support group. They were mostly men and I tend to use the girly thing a little to make everyone laugh and put them at their ease. I pulled out some name tags and markers and began to pass them around saying, “Now boys, everyone needs to print very neatly…” I moved on around the table getting things set up and the interviews began.
About half way through, one of the men stopped in the middle of a sentence because he had to get something off his chest. He looked right at me. “You called us ‘boys’.” I was startled and had to think for a moment to remember what I’d said. And then I realized – I was in a room filled with African American men. I had waltzed into a group of strangers – Black men in their 40s, 50s, 60s, and 70s – and I had called them ‘boys’. Yes, I would classify that as a big mistake.
The thesaurus is filled with words that attempt to describe how I felt. Mortified. Embarrassed. Ashamed. Breathtakingly stupid. But I did my best to meet his eye and apologize with all my heart. To him, to all of them. And I thanked him for being so gracious in calling me out. He hadn’t raised his voice or stomped out of the room, or said anything mean. He just very calmly pointed out my lack of respect and complete ignorance. It was devastating, and also revelatory.
How many times had I done that before? Said something silly or thoughtless that I thought was flirty or funny or clever, only to hurt someone without knowing it. No, I may have meant nothing by it, but that doesn’t excuse my cluelessness. I have been hurt by words in the past. And I have used them to wound when I needed a weapon I could rely on to cut deeply. I know their power.
Hopefully, in the future, I will use that power for good. After all, with power comes great responsibility.
About half way through, one of the men stopped in the middle of a sentence because he had to get something off his chest. He looked right at me. “You called us ‘boys’.” I was startled and had to think for a moment to remember what I’d said. And then I realized – I was in a room filled with African American men. I had waltzed into a group of strangers – Black men in their 40s, 50s, 60s, and 70s – and I had called them ‘boys’. Yes, I would classify that as a big mistake.
The thesaurus is filled with words that attempt to describe how I felt. Mortified. Embarrassed. Ashamed. Breathtakingly stupid. But I did my best to meet his eye and apologize with all my heart. To him, to all of them. And I thanked him for being so gracious in calling me out. He hadn’t raised his voice or stomped out of the room, or said anything mean. He just very calmly pointed out my lack of respect and complete ignorance. It was devastating, and also revelatory.
How many times had I done that before? Said something silly or thoughtless that I thought was flirty or funny or clever, only to hurt someone without knowing it. No, I may have meant nothing by it, but that doesn’t excuse my cluelessness. I have been hurt by words in the past. And I have used them to wound when I needed a weapon I could rely on to cut deeply. I know their power.
Hopefully, in the future, I will use that power for good. After all, with power comes great responsibility.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
An Exit Row Kind of Day...
Sometimes when you travel, nice things happen. You get to the airport on time – even a little bit early. There are plenty of spaces in long term parking and just as you walk up to the shuttle stop, the bus arrives to take you to the terminal. Which isn’t really that crowded, all things considered. People are reasonably polite, the security line is reasonably efficient, and nearby children are reasonably subdued. It’s not like it’s the best day of your life or anything, but it’s not bad.
And then a kind of magical thing happens. You know the flight attendant. He isn’t a super-close pal, but he’s a neighbor you wave to and who has a nice dog you give a pat when you’re walking by. You look up from your cramped coach seat and there he is, demanding your boarding pass and telling you you’re in the wrong seat. Suddenly, you’re in an exit row. An empty exit row. Leg room! Fanny room! Spreading out or curling up room. And at that moment, my friends, life is good.
I like to travel. Even when I don’t have a magical exit row day, I like to be heading towards a city I’ve never seen or revisiting a place I want to explore further. Call it wanderlust or call it nosiness – I just want to find out more about people in other places. I want to see their monuments and taste their cuisine and try out a bit of the local lingo. Today I’m heading to Philadelphia. First time and I’m totally frustrated ‘cause I’ll be there such a short time I won’t get to do much of anything but attend the meetings that are the reason for the trip. No Liberty Bell, no Constitution Hall. But I’ll get a glimpse of the skyline and of course, I’ll get the best bit – I’ll get to meet a room full of people from this foreign land called Pennsylvania. I am hopeful that with their guidance I will uncover the perfect example of what is known in their language as a “cheese steak”.
And then a kind of magical thing happens. You know the flight attendant. He isn’t a super-close pal, but he’s a neighbor you wave to and who has a nice dog you give a pat when you’re walking by. You look up from your cramped coach seat and there he is, demanding your boarding pass and telling you you’re in the wrong seat. Suddenly, you’re in an exit row. An empty exit row. Leg room! Fanny room! Spreading out or curling up room. And at that moment, my friends, life is good.
I like to travel. Even when I don’t have a magical exit row day, I like to be heading towards a city I’ve never seen or revisiting a place I want to explore further. Call it wanderlust or call it nosiness – I just want to find out more about people in other places. I want to see their monuments and taste their cuisine and try out a bit of the local lingo. Today I’m heading to Philadelphia. First time and I’m totally frustrated ‘cause I’ll be there such a short time I won’t get to do much of anything but attend the meetings that are the reason for the trip. No Liberty Bell, no Constitution Hall. But I’ll get a glimpse of the skyline and of course, I’ll get the best bit – I’ll get to meet a room full of people from this foreign land called Pennsylvania. I am hopeful that with their guidance I will uncover the perfect example of what is known in their language as a “cheese steak”.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
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