The Patron Saint of Dumb People* * *
Dear Springtime Reader, I confess Tuesdays come quicker than I like, but I have a few things for you, you and the anonymous stranger on the side of the screen, you and the friends who check up on my life here, you and you and you...
Let the confessions begin--
I confess I brush my teeth in the shower. If I could make daughter's lunch from the shower, or do my hair in the shower, or eat breakfast in the shower, I would. I take long hot showers and do not feel guilty for them. I think about my day, I think about poetry, I even thought about what I would write for today's confession in the shower.
I confess the gym's community hair dryer is nicer than my own hair dryer.
I confess that if I ever lived in the city again, all my stuff would be ripped offcause I've gotten used to a small town where you don't need a lock for your lockers and if you leave something somewhere, you can return a week later and still find it.
I confess I probably care less about pesticides than you do. I also have no problem eating a cookie that was just dropped on the floor and I only say "5 second rule" to make the people around me more comfortable.
I realize that when it comes down to it, the three things I hope to teach my daughter is "be kind," "use your manners," and "don't be the girl who smells like pee." In life, those things may take you farther than any good education.
I confess I have low tolerance for dumb girls and I'm not saying girls who have a learning disability or eat paste out of confusion, but girls who think it's cute to act like an airhead. I am probably less tolerant for this because I tried on this role after too many episodes of Three's Company (I was so tired of being the smart Janet character and wanted to be Chrissy.) No one had bothered to tell me that you could be both pretty AND smart. And had to learn that later.
I confess whenever I hear "pretty and smart" I think of the lines from a Linda McCarrison poem "Wrought Figure"--
"I'm hard on women, you said. It was
July and night, heavy and fragrant
all around the table set for the
short season out on the porch. Shells
of lobsters, broken, were heaped on plates,
each gruesome body part a woman scorned...
Ten days I took to trace the problem [saying]
...and I love men, pretty and smart, as you are,
land am not rare in this but, as you
confessed, successful, meaning bested by
fewer than 1 best. Let us dance, then, on
the lawn of what's left of summer. . ."
*
Dance on.
