You Are Not Going To Believe This But...
I just got home from a PTA fundraising committee meeting.
Sara is always saying to me, Let's write a book. And I'm always saying back, What the hell would I write about?
And tonight as I sat there on that leather sectional in the living room of the fundraising committee's chairwoman, I had an out of body experience. At least that's what it felt like. It was the strangest most surreal feeling the whole time I was sitting there. I kept blinking my eyes to try to ground myself. I kept reminding myself that what I was doing at that moment was probably the most normal thing in the world. But God damn it felt strange to me.
Sometimes everything, right down to the little, mini tortes on the granite countertop, seems so cliche to me that I feel like I must have just been dropped into the middle of the Twilight Zone. The other 15 committee mothers there all looked exactly alike, sort of half granola, half yuppie. And then there was me. I am pretty sure I was the only one wearing make up, and I am very sure that I was the only one with their cleavage on display.
Even my French pedicure was sure to assert its individuality from everyone else's (and of course everyone else was rockin' the French pedi - I felt like I was in some freaky cloned toe bizarro world).
I'm not sure what exactly I'm trying to say here, but the whole scene was just strange to me. And at one point as I was flying around the room detached from my body I thought to myself, I've got to put this in my book. But then I thought, Who am I kidding. No one would buy my book, and even if they did, no one would get it. Except maybe me and the six of you.
Sara is always saying to me, Let's write a book. And I'm always saying back, What the hell would I write about?
And tonight as I sat there on that leather sectional in the living room of the fundraising committee's chairwoman, I had an out of body experience. At least that's what it felt like. It was the strangest most surreal feeling the whole time I was sitting there. I kept blinking my eyes to try to ground myself. I kept reminding myself that what I was doing at that moment was probably the most normal thing in the world. But God damn it felt strange to me.
Sometimes everything, right down to the little, mini tortes on the granite countertop, seems so cliche to me that I feel like I must have just been dropped into the middle of the Twilight Zone. The other 15 committee mothers there all looked exactly alike, sort of half granola, half yuppie. And then there was me. I am pretty sure I was the only one wearing make up, and I am very sure that I was the only one with their cleavage on display.
Even my French pedicure was sure to assert its individuality from everyone else's (and of course everyone else was rockin' the French pedi - I felt like I was in some freaky cloned toe bizarro world).
I'm not sure what exactly I'm trying to say here, but the whole scene was just strange to me. And at one point as I was flying around the room detached from my body I thought to myself, I've got to put this in my book. But then I thought, Who am I kidding. No one would buy my book, and even if they did, no one would get it. Except maybe me and the six of you.
@ 9:35 PM
4 Comments:
Well, since this week is national "delurking" week...I felt compelled to make a first time comment. You totally crack me up...I have been reading you for quite sometime...you never cease to make me laugh..so, yeah...I would totally buy your book. Love the pedi by the way..I always get the white french....I will have to try it your way.
Dixiechick
I get those sensations every once in a while ... sometimes the very fact of existence ... of existing as oneself and perceiving the world around one ... becomes overwhelming.
I would SO buy your book.
Although...knowing you....you'd give everyone you know a copy...signed by the author, of course.
One of the things I like about you.
Send me a picture. You havemy email rouge c'est moi.
Granite tile on the fireplace.
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