Iím an depressingly ordinary grandma, older than I care to admit with a compulsive need to confess to this non-threatening page that when I see a siren on top of a car behind me, itís a given that I start stressing about what did I do this time? It doesnít even need to be blaring for my stomach to tighten and my hands to sweat.
Did he notice I was didnít wear a seatbelt for thirty seconds after leaving my driveway? I had to put on my lipstick first, because Iím told I look expired without it. I have nice friends.
Did he know I didnít give to the policemanís ball in 1994? Is he even a cop? All sirens look threatening to me.
Did he see me scowl at that really old lady for driving so slow? Secretly, I despise old people driving. Itís time we erase the stereotype by putting some pedal to the medal. So I scowled, and she was too focused on the road to notice.
I am so guilty of bad, awful and mean thoughts. What if that cop can read my mind?
Well, to be honest, itís not just cops. Regular people stared me yesterday after viewing our grandsonís swollen black eye who fell off the slide the day before. Their dad had them, and unless you have taken three three- year- olds to the park on a pretty day, donít even go there. Newsflash: Not all black eyes are purposely initiated by mean-minded people.
So I attempted to look educated, sophisticated, and non-violent, and then worried if Iíd got my lipstick on straight. Crooked lipstick may be a dead-give away that we could be closet abusers.
Once I forgot there was something in the bottom of my grocery cart that the checker didnít scan. I just knew she thought that I was pulling a fast one on her. I could swear over a dollar bill she gave me the ďlook.Ē So I tried to feign premature senility. ďFeignĒ being the operative word here. Take note.
If I wanted to steal something I would like to think it would NOT be IAMS dog food, but something a little more practical.
Why do I still think the preacherís always talking to me personally? That my husband must have called him in the wee hours of Sunday morning and bribed him to change his sermon to ďsubmissionĒ and being a servant starts at home?
Why do I still want to please Aunt Mabel who rolled her eyes in the 60ís when I wore my black armband to the Thanksgiving Dinner? She still treats me like an aging hippie, and I swear I never burned a bra.
All in all Iím a pleasantly well-rounded ( literally) peaceful sort of woman. I donít make waves. I donít win contests. I encourage all the winner types around me, and yet I feel guilty. If something is wrong in the atmosphere, I need to fix it, correct it, apologize for it, rescue whomever is in trouble, and make peace where I have no business having an opinion, much less meddling.
Thatís about it in a nutshell.
If you want to put something on my tombstone that sets me apart, just writeÖ ďpoor thing she tried, you have to give her that.Ē
So before I mess up, and you start giving me grief about it, let me please tell you, ďIím so sorry for whatever it was, whenever I did it or didnít do it, and if you will forgive me, Iíll pay."
I bake a great peach pie if you like them burnt.
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