Etiquette Coach

I walked in to Old Navy to exchange some boots. Since I didn't have a receipt, I went straight to the checkout line. There was only one customer in front of me, a woman with two tween girls in tow. One of these girls was sitting in a stroller, legs dangling over the sides so she could scoot herself around. I saw she was doing this before I got in line, and I made sure to give her plenty of space. Very soon, however, she starts backing up straight toward me. The woman she was with was watching her do this, and continued to chat with the cashier. The woman made eye contact with me as I stepped back, and stepped back some more, to avoid the girl bumping into me. The woman continues chatting with the cashier, saying nothing to me nor the child trying to play the world's most unfair game of bumper cars with me. As I am being pushed further toward the back of the store, I decide to simply step to the side, out of the backing zone. Still not a word from the woman to the child.
Now, Mama always said, "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all." Not my mama, but someone's. Also, as an avid reader of Miss Manners, I know there are no occasions for which rudeness is acceptable. In those few minutes, my brain could not conjure a sentence that did not include a) a 4-letter word, b) a command, rather than a request, and c) the need to be spoken with my outside voice -to get this woman to tell the kid to KNOCK IT OFF! So I said nothing. I simply moved out of the kid's way and seethed silently with rage. There is truly no good way to either reprimand someone else's child, or to ask a parent to please remember that people other than their children exist, but I know that part of the reason I couldn't think of anything polite to say was because the devil on my shoulder said, "This lady obviously doesn't give a fuck how you feel, why should you show her any courtesy?" Luckily, Miss Manners won that round, and I will just remain hopeful that there will never be another.

Pilgrim

I'm convinced that I was meant to live in this day and age. Without intervention of modern medicine, my mother and I wouldn't even be here. If by some miracle I had survived my birth, there is a great chance I would not have survived the births of my children. I am painfully intolerant of the cold and am terrified of extended voyages across the ocean. Given that I almost gave up baking my own bread until I got my stand mixer, I can't imagine how I'd do making my own flour. Without my steamer, panini grill, and microwave, I might never cook at all.
As I am preparing some food on Thanksgiving Eve for the big dinner, Husband is lounging around doing absolutely nothing, demanding that I bring him food, water, and medicine like someone who just had knee surgery or something and can't walk - maybe because he did - Missey is underfoot trying to help with every measure and stir, and Bug is QUITITGOSITDOWN! Bug is cranky and needs a bath. Even after his extended bedtime ritual, he doesn't want to sleep. I catch him playing in his room half an hour after laying him down, then he throws a fit. Missey is done grating the cheese and needs another job. My feet hurt, my back hurts, smelling all this food has me hungry, and I'm exhausted. Hectic as all this is, I am grateful for every last minute of it - and not just on this one day.

Remodeler

The building I work in has been remodeled over the last year. I was one of the first to get a new desk - all my own, too - resting comfortably on the stylish new modular carpet. Not that the new stuff wasn't cool, but I missed my old cozy office, tucked away and locked from all but a select few coworkers. The new area was cold, and no space heaters were allowed (which may or may not have to do with one catching fire on my watch). My new computer was missing essential programs that I had to wait to have installed. I realized that as adaptable as I had always believed myself to be, I really don't like change.
I tend to live in the here and now. I forget to take photos of major events because it doesn't occur to me that I will one day be present in a future where I may want to revisit these moments. Even so, I rarely look at old photos, because I know where they are if I want to see them, but I'm too busy right now. The future will come when it comes, and bring with it what it will. The past, I can't change, and has led me to where I am now, which I do not at all regret.
That said, I catch myself using the phrase, "I remember when" a lot. If we ever drive around my town together, point out a building, and I'll tell you the business it used to be before it was the business it is now, as well as who I was with when I used to hang out there. This is why I don't like change: It makes me nostalgic. I don't want to be that guy - "Hey, did I ever tell you about how that Taco Bell used to be-" "YES! You've told me about it!" I accept that change is inevitable, and I wouldn't want to live in any other time than this one. But a large part of me cheers every time they recycle parts of the old house on Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. Memories deserve a place in our now.

Parent's Television Councilmember

I know that topically, this is a few weeks late, but I can't not comment on the Parents Television Council's criticism of the Glee GQ photo shoot. I'm not going to link to it; it doesn't really deserve any more attention. My only comment here is one that goes way beyond this one photo shoot: Just because it was once for kids, doesn't mean it's always for kids. Cases in point: Miley Cyrus on Hannah Montana: For kids. "Can't Be Tamed" video: Not for kids. Justin Bieber: All ages. SNL featuring Justin Bieber: TV-14. Dakota Fanning in Charlotte's Web: G. Dakota Fanning in Hounddog: R. 

If you are allowing your kids to watch, listen to, or view adult content just because a celebrity they like is featured in it, you are not parenting. According to the Parents Television Council, "Many children who flocked to ‘High School Musical’ have grown into ‘Glee’ fans. They are now being treated to seductive, in-your-face poses of the underwear-clad female characters posing in front of school lockers, one of them opting for a full-frontal crotch shot." Um, how are they being treated to these pictures? GQ is a magazine for men. I am not so naive to think kids can't find their own methods of obtaining a copy of the magazine, or finding the pics online; Dad isn't necessarily handing over the mail. But parents should be paying attention to what their kids are watching, even if it features OMGJUSTINBEIBER!

Podiatrist

I have a problem with socks. I have no idea whether anyone else has this problem; it really hasn't ever come up in any conversation I've ever had.  The issue is this: my socks get holes in them. In the heels. The Achilles tendon, specifically. I have no idea how this happens, especially as it usually happens on the first wear, and typically only on pairs I have bought at stores that do not include the word "dollar" in their name.
I understand holes in the toes. I understand holes in the heels (because unfortunately there is not enough pumice and/or shea butter in the world to get my feet to look good in sandals). I do not understand holes developing over the softest part of my foot.
I also do not understand how this happens on the first wear. When this phenomenon occurs with pantyhose - which nowadays I avoid like shows having anything to do with New Jersey - I can usually pinpoint what happened, which was me being careless and snagging them on something. Side Note: this has happened with knit gloves, too. Knit gloves + Velcro = Bad. My socks, however, are safely housed inside my shoes, which should protect them from me and any runnings-in I may have with rough objects. Perhaps this is where I should point out that I am not wearing wooden shoes or anything. Get some meddling kids on the case, because this is a mystery to me.

Age Guesser

I received what I felt was an odd compliment: Our waitress liked my hair (not an odd compliment), "It makes you look young," she said (odd compliment). I felt that this was an entirely different comment than, "That haircut makes you look younger," as fed to you by someone who knows what you looked like before said haircut. But this woman was a complete stranger. To her, I just looked young.
It is not new to me to hear people who know the number of candles on my cake say that I look young for my age. Since I've always been my own age and looked the way I look, I'm not sure what to think of this. I am fortunate to not have wrinkles or to have found any gray strands yet. I know it's coming, and I don't dread it, exactly. I've never been ashamed of my age, and once I begin showing my age I don't see any reason to lie about it.
Thanks to the magic of Facebook, I have seen pictures of the classmates I graduated high school with, and they don't look any older than I do. So, since they are my age and appear no older, how is it I look young for my age? Was my entire graduating class genetically blessed? Is my age reading skewed, or are others'? What is my age supposed to look like?
Obviously there are many answers to that question. Our modern times allow for anyone to appear to be almost any age they choose, with the help of unpronounceable chemicals, poisonous injections, and plastic surgery. I have my doubts that everyone else my age has gone to one or all of these lengths to look younger. Certainly there are those that appear older than they are, but you wouldn't dare tell them this. In fact, pair any two humans of the same age, and some will conclude that one appears older than the other. When a person tells you their age, whether they appear older or younger than that is first, a matter of subjective opinion, and second, completely incidental. Rather than blurting a backhanded, "You look great for your age!" or replying with a quiet I-feel-kinda-bad-for-you-then "Oh," how about we just accept that age looks different on everyone?
I want to add that this is a lesson for me, not a sermon. I've certainly been guilty of trying to gauge how old people are. I've also failed miserably at this, which is why you won't hear me barking at the fair's "Guess Your Age" booth.

Um, Part 2

Okay. Normally I own up to my mistakes, cut my losses, move on. However, sometimes I underestimate my workload and think, "I can still do this!" As is the case when, two months ago, I decided to try to play "catch up" with my blog posts. This actually made things worse, because I haven't wanted to post just one story a week; if I couldn't post multiple articles to cover the backlog I didn't want to post at all. Considering I'm still about a month behind, I think it's time I faced up to the fact that I just do not have the time to do these posts. The time I had is long gone. This is a personal disappointment, because it meant a lot to me, as the aspiring writer I've always wanted to be, to make time to write creatively at least once a week. I'll just be moving forward now, and do my best to go back to weekly updates. And if an extra post or two happens, w00t!