Me Being Me

Sportin’ my new t-shirt. Too bad Mr. Kaminski couldn’t read it without his glasses. Or maybe it isn’t.

By Patti Parish-Kaminski, Publisher

There are some things in this world I am just not going to be. Thin and pleasant top the list. Sure, I can do one or the other, albeit for brief periods of time, just not simultaneously. The two states are simply not conducive to co-existing with one other. Just look at the French. They are mostly thin and gorgeous, but for the most part, incredibly rude. I get that. They need a cookie – a real cookie, not those flaky, crusty pastries they make with no substance. I’m talking a half pound chocolate chip cookie with nuts and such as big as your head.

These days I’m losing the LB’s – been working on it for over a year now. Change is hard, and slow. In fact, Uncle Marv said to me just the other day, “You’re gonna have to stop calling yourself a big girl pretty soon the way you’re looking these days.” Absolutely one of the top ten nicest things anyone has ever said to me. Love that man.

There’s an entire list of other things I’ll never be: blonde, a decent cook, a gardener, crafty, overtly sentimental, giddy, remotely interested in anything to do with auto mechanics (unless he’s hot), beer, quantum physics or baseball. I know I cannot wear Christian Louboutin shoes. Gena and I tried – not happening. Went to the Galleria and everything. They are just too dang skinny for full-grown girls’ feet. They are way too uncomfortable, yet another reason why the French are so darn cranky – their feet hurt! If they would just wear a good ol’ comfortable pair of broken in cowboy boots, it would change their lives.

I’m really good with what I’ll never be and more importantly, what I am. I know what I am, intimately, and I’m truly okay with all of it, such as it is. And I’ve got the scars to prove it. I don’t even try to cover them up any more. I often threaten to show them to my babies when they act up, and I have to remind them that I gave birth to them. If they in annoying me, I proudly declare I can show them the scars to prove it. It typically stops them in their tracks.

Sure, I may work on losing a little weight for health reasons, because I truly grow weary of popping pills on the daily, but I have no desire to get snipped or sucked or tucked or plumped or clipped – other than the occasional hair cut from time to time, which I fight with a vengeance. Now I will cover up the gray because that particular issue vexes me, but I just might get to the point where that goes by the wayside. I’ve got some girlfriends who have let that ship sail, and they look fabulous, so I just might hop aboard at some point. I believe I would look really good with the wind in my hair – as long as it doesn’t blow in my face and blind me.

Fortunately for me, Mr. Kaminski’s eyesight is failing. It gets dimmer each year, and he refuses to get glasses. He prefers to go to the Dollar Store and purchase a dozen pair of readers at a time to get by. It’s a win for me, and I’ll take it.

Just this week I got a new t-shirt. I wore it out to dinner; he never took notice. Everyone else did. An hour and half in, I finally queried, “Do you like my new shirt?” “Yea, it’s cute.” Standard response. I knew he didn’t read it – couldn’t see the words. I simply stared until he put his glasses on. “Oh, where did you get that?” he quizzed. I just smiled.

See y’all next week – on the porch!

Patti Parish-Kaminski

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