Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Blow Sunshine Up My Ass

I just so love that phrase. It’s deliciously cheeky and irreverent, wickedly inappropriate. I love lines that catch the reader totally off guard, phrases that are unexpected and cause perhaps for a turn of the head and a pardon me? I love hurling words that make the reader gasp, bring hand to mouth and utter under her breath, Well, I never! Even though secretly I know she does.

If you knew me for real and not just on paper, you might never expect me to say such a thing, blow sunshine up my ass. Those of you who know me on paper have come to be acquainted with my occasional toss of the f-word, flip of the finger. You’ve come to look for my rants on underpants and bosoms and nice, or sort of hard to look at, back ends. Those of you who know me for real are sometimes surprised at this side of me. Sometimes. Those of you who know me are surprised at nothing.

On the surface, I am conservative and quiet, a rule follower and peacekeeper, nothing flashy or fun. I’m a mom. I’m a teacher. I dress in cardigans of solid colors, boring and nondescript. I drive a brown car, have brown hair, and am told constantly that I look like somebody else. Look a little closer, though, and you see the toe rings, the piercings, the willingness to try almost anything. You see a hint of what I have on underneath those teacher clothes. You see the rule follower who just can’t stick to any of the rules, who, when the going gets especially tough, throws her hands in the air, stomps her feet, hurls out a good curse word and creates her own rules, then goes on about her business in the most lady-like fashion as if of course this is how all the ladies meet with a challenge.

But if you knew me like those who know me know me, you would know that like the phrase we’re discussing I, too, can be deliciously cheeky and irreverent, wickedly inappropriate. I love the thrill of throwing someone for a colossal loop. You do not expect the words you hear to come out of such an innocent looking face. You do not expect the attitude, the sass, the flippant way I just spit it out as if it is no big thing, none at all. Never judge a book, I say. Never judge a teacher, or a mom, or a lady with brown hair wearing a brown cardigan. Or go ahead and judge, and then be wonderfully surprised.

Aren’t words great?!

As for the blowing sunshine up my ass, go ahead. I have absolutely no problem with that. I am all about having someone shower me with flowering words whether warranted or not. Of course, I’d rather have the warranted, but, hey, whatever. I’d rather have that fake sunshine, too, than real criticism, verbal daggers. Who needs that? That’s for people who live in reality, and I haven’t been there for a long time. Reality is for rule followers. Reality is for those with no imagination. Reality is for the boring, the staid, the always correct. Reality is for those who raise their eyebrows at me in the bookstore, those in the biography stacks who see me pissed at my husband, who witness me purse my lips in frustration, give him the evil eye, and then smack my backend good and mouth in anger, kiss it, mister! Oh, my, I see them thinking, she did that in public. Yes. I did. And it was fun. Deliciously fun. And it’ll be even more fun later.

Life is just too short to be lifeless. I carry with me always this gigantic word syringe. When listeners’ eyes start to glaze over, when said listeners can almost guess what I am going to say, when they are thinking to themselves been here, heard this, I pull out that syringe and inject the conversation with a bit of word fun, with a bit of zest and energy and enthusiasm and surprise. The whole experience comes awake, comes alive. The whole thing is just cheeky, irreverent, wickedly inappropriate fun. It’s life and conversation as should be, nice and naughty all at the same time, all brown cardigan on the surface with just a hint of black lacy push-up underneath.

No comments:

Post a Comment