And every once in a while, it’s really black and white.
While I’m absorbed in the embracing and releasing of my inner beeyotch, there’s an overriding theme that’s emerging around Casa de Enchanted Seashells.
It seems that I am annoying in different ways to different people. Some might find that to be a negative character trait and should be “worked on.”
Not me.
I consider my annoying self to be a value-added option or a gift with purchase–to the liberation of my beeyotchiness.
There are some aspects of parenting and marriages that don’t reveal themselves right away. Sometimes it takes a child moving out to give him/her perspective and a spouse can also evoke a similar epiphany.
Last night my shining bright star boy child called and I was APPARENTLY nagging (his word) him about his eating habits and not eating enough. A great multi-tasker, he was chewing while chatting and told me he was eating a Subway sandwich. Always a caring and concerned and nurturing mom, I told him it didn’t have enough calories for a skinny boy like him and he needed to take bcare of himself and eat higher quality protein and more frequently, blah blah blah.
I said, ‘Maybe I should come back there and cook for you.” “No, that’s OK.” ”Why not? I would have loved it if my mom cooked for me.” “No, I can cook for myself” “But DO you?”
“Were you always this annoying?”
That about sums it all up for me, and anyway, the answer is yes, I have always been this annoying.
In fact, the captain asked me the same exact question yesterday. I was bugging him while he was hiding from me working on a project–and he said, “Do you have any idea how annoying you are?”
To which I answered, “Yes, I am very well aware of how annoying I am. This is not new information to you. I did not suddenly emerge from my chrysalis and become an annoying person. I didn’t misrepresent myself. You knew full well what you were getting yourself into more than twenty years ago. So stop complaining. Your complaining IS annoying.”
“Once in a while, you should try to not be so annoying.”
Like really, like does he not know by now with whom he’s dealing? I was gonna say, does he not know who he’s dealing with, but that’s not proper English, so if it sounds strange, whatever. Deal with it. Oopsie, just let a bit of my beeyotchiness out, like a silent but deadly you know.
I felt picked on and since I’m only sixty inches tall, I feel a good old Napoleon Complex simmering just below the surface, ready to boil over real fast, rear its ugly head, and take no prisoners.
I added that snide remark to his Frico/Freaky sharp-witted comment of the other day. Like an elephant, we women don’t forget. We just tally up the misdeeds in one of our brain’s compartments, and when it fills up, watch out.
Thar she blows!
Here’s a little confession. Pissing me off is expensive. He paid dearly and with much pain. He was forced under duress to accompany me to South Coast Plaza in Orange County. I’ve spoken of this place before, I know, but it really is a shrine, a shopping mecca, a retail temple of the beautiful–and Chanel, or as my new friend calls it, ChaCha. (Check out her blog, reversecommuter–she’s awesome.) I love Hermes and Valentino and Versace and Gucci, but Chanel holds my heart.
It’s a beautiful drive to SCP and takes about fifty minutes or so. We could see the surf at Trestles on one side and snow-covered mountains to the east. We parked at Bloomingdales. I wanted to check out their Chanel department and compare it to the actual Chanel shop’s designs. I know I just got my Grand Tote Shopper in November, but she was a bit lonely and I thought a little sister (in other words, a matching wallet) would make her happy.
I pulled out all the stops on this one.
My crazy came out in spectacular form. Here’s what I said to the captain. “My mom called and she said that I really need a matching wallet.”
Hold on. Stay with me. Don’t stop reading now! You might be thinking to yourself, “That doesn’t sound too crazy.”
Well…when I tell you that my mom died in 1989, you might think differently, huh?
So…treading lightly here–very lightly, the captain said, “Tell your mom that saying things like that is not very helpful and you also can tell her from me that she raised a very spoiled daughter.”
I walked away and came back a few minutes later.
“My mom said you’re annoying.”
(We chat with my mom all the time as if she were still here, so it’s not that unusual to bring her into a convo.)
Back to SCP. Focus! Bloomies didn’t have a huge selection and the sales staff was EXTREMELY unpleasant and didn’t seem to really want us invading their space, so we left.
We took the escalator down to the first floor. As we were descending, I looked behind me…and there it was in all of its black and white magnificence. I swear the place was glowing, beckoning me in.
I almost forgot hubs was with me.
Marie greeted us as we walked in and made a grand tour of the salon. She commented on the beauty of my GST. I asked to see the black caviar wallet that would complement my bag. She escorted us to the proper glass case, and then beckoned me to go behind the counter where she OPENED ALL THE DRAWERS AND INVITED ME TO TAKE ALL THE TIME I WANTED TO LOOK AT THE DOZENS OF WALLETS IN EVERY COLOR AND PATTERN. My face turned bright red, I almost broke out in tears. The captain parked his ass somewhere–at this point I had no idea he existed. I WAS IN HEAVEN. Pink and blue and green and red and quilted and patent leather and imprinted with Coco’s signature camellias.
I touched and stroked and smelled them all.
With a nod from my tugboat captain–KING OF ALL MEN- best husband in the whole world–I chose my prize. When Marie asked if this was for a special occasion, my wonderful hubs shrugged and said it was “Just because.” He’s really a very special guy, my tugboat man.
P.S. In case you’re wondering, I was a very appreciative and grateful recipient.
Hubs isn’t a very good photographer and he would only take one pic
On the way home from SCP
So beautifully packaged, I didn’t want to open it!
Chanel ribbon too!
Can you hear the angels singing? Isn’t it brills?
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All my whining and whinging and going on ad nauseum about how poor little me can’t find the perfect black boot and my stingy hubs won’t let me spend $2,000.00 on those Chanels HAS FINALLY COME TO AN END!
There were a couple of other women in the same size area. I usually wear a 5 or a 5 1/2. It just depends. I grabbed a bunch of boots to stake my claim, just in case they got there first. It was woman against woman and “boot war” rules apply. It wasn’t quite the kind of madness you’d find at a Kleinfeld’s clearance, but we were circling each other; wary, squinting, attempting to strategize while seeming nonchalant. I know all the tricks, beeyotches!
