I wrote a facebook status that said:
I wish I were the kind of person that could be trusted to wear white jeans.
That got me thinking about the kind of girl I wish I was. We’ll tackle that one first. I wish I were the kind of girl that could be trusted to wear white jeans. I love white jeans. And white t-shirts. And white Oxford shirts. And white slipcovers. And white cabinetry. And…you get the drift. I would love a world where I was bathed in breezy white fabrics, but my reality is I can’t get out of the house without a stain of some sort on my brand new white shirt. Let’s be real, they only ever look good the one time.
I wish I were the kind of girl who could wear bangs. I know it’s dumb but it’s more an issue of im not a girl who’s good at fixing her hair. Maybe I could be but it’s that kind of hair that’s curly/not curly/not beachy waves but kinda like a cocker spaniels’ ears except not cute. It could be cute if I were the kind of girl who took time to fix my hair. But I’m not. Because whether I spend ten minutes or an hour, it looks the same after an hour of life in 98% humidity.
While we’re on the subject of completely ridiculous and vain issues, I wish I was the kind of girl who could wear high heels without feeling like I’m playing dress up in my mamas closet. I used to wear heels. A lot. Almost every day and I’ve got the shoe wardrobe to prove it, but then I quit working and I forgot how to walk in them. Yesterday, I wore a pair of wedges; reasonable wedges, even. I had to change shoes before ten am. When did this happen to me? Why? Am I cursed now to a life of sensible shoes?
I wish I were the kind of girl who could pull of sleeves. I don’t mean the ones on a cardigan; we have friends with tattoos. I love tattoos, but about the time I lost my ability to walk in anything but flip flops, I lost any muscle definition in my arms. That other kind of sleeve wouldn’t be pretty on me. So, cardis it is.
I wish I were the kind of girl who could wear her baby. Big and I went to Central Market today (Think Whole Foods but contained to Texas) and there was a crunchy mama wearing her baby successfully while she peed. I’m talking about the wrap around sling thingy not one of those “easy” backpack wearing thingys. I wore big for approximately .5 seconds once when he was a newborn before he slid out a big ball of sweaty, mad baby whose mama barely caught him. I’m fairly certain that this mamas babes have never had a Rice Krispy Treat for breakfast or a McNugget; this leads me to my final point.
I wish I was the kind of girl who is so zen that nothing gets to her. I’m also pretty sure that baby wearing mama is so zen that she’s never uttered a curse in front of them. To quote the great Ferris Bueller, “Pardon my French but Cameron is so tight that if you stuck a lump of coal up his ass, in two weeks you’d have a diamond.” Replace Kristi and her for Cameron and his and you’ve got an accurate description of the new state of my psyche and physiology.
So, to recap, I want white pants, bangs, heels, sleeves a baby sling and zen. But what I’ve got is jeans, crazy hair, flip flops, cardis, an SUV and yoga on Thursdays. I think I’ll be just fine.