My second favorite Christmas gift this year was a little pink book with helpful hints such as "A lady knows when it's appropriate to eat the garnish or drink through a straw." As well as, "A lady always wears clean and fresh underwear," and, " A lady doesn't touch other people's children unless invited to do so."
I admit to not being the author's inspiration, I know nothing about being a "lady."
My youth was spent bouncing back and forth between ballet and tennis lessons, my adolescence consisted of sports jerseys, football statistics, and life on the farm, and young adulthood meant learning that it wasn't necessary to physically harm all of the boys in my life and my male torment took on another motive entirely.
Turning 18 brought about the desire to lose my childhood nickname along with my uni-brow and who knew that "one becoming two" was all that was necessary to birth my "feminine mystique." All mystery aside, I was still a work in progress.
I had gone from girl, to brute, to woman and no etiquette classes on the planet were going to put me through phase "Lady."
Years later, after trials and errors and extraordinary life experiences I'm quite capable of blending into polite society. My conversations can be intelligent, my table manners are perfectly polite, and no one can rock a pair of stilettos quite like I can and yet I'm still certain that "The Contemporary Guide to Common Courtesy" was not written about me.
I've been wearing the same fake eyelashes for two days.
I often refer to my apartment as "ghetto."
I'm not certain I can remember my real hair color. Brown-ish?
My vocabulary could make a sailor blush.
I have an irrational fear of mediocrity. And clowns.
I'm currently wearing white and it is well after Labor Day.
Sometimes garnish confuses me.
According to the book, should the Pope, a Prince, or the President show up I will most certainly be ill prepared.
