“So? What do you do? Do you just stay at home with the kids?” said the lady with the big hair and the fake eyelashes.
She looks rich. She looks successful. But is she? I can see her in her house, fighting with her husband. She’s saying, “Honey…. Why don’t you ever wash the dishes? Lola’s husband washes the dishes,” she means to say, “Will you please help me wash the dishes?” But she’s tired, and her brain isn’t thinking about manners. Her tone of voice is harsh and nagging. The husband interprets this as, “You’re worthless. You’re a jerk. Everyone else is better than you.”
“Yeah, but. Lola’s husband is a loser. He doesn’t have a job. Washing dishes is his job.” The husband has a lot more to say. He wants to prove is point. But she won’t let him. She talks over him. Her voice and her rage escalate. She’s mad. Now he’s mad. Now they’re both yelling. Pretty soon, there will be dishes flying.
The lady doesn’t know that I know her secrets. When I see her, I see a woman who constantly criticizes her husband. No doubt she complains constantly, and always has to have her way. She gets what she wants, whenever she wants it.
No doubt, she had an expensive wedding. I know this, but I’m not psychic. She’s got big hair, she shops at Dillard’s and wears a woman suit. This is the type of person who “has” to have a big wedding. She demands it. She will have no other way.
This lady pities me. She looks down upon me as some poor dejected woman whose husband controls her. To her, I’m just that poor housewife. If only I would go to college and get a job, I too, could be successful like her.
There is no black or white. There is only succeed or fail. So what do I say to this lady? She sees what she wants to see. She hears what she wants to hear. No matter what I say, she is going to make up her mind about me, and it isn’t going to be good. I have no choice. I must throw her for a loop.
If I try to impress her, she’ll think I’m pretentious and hate me. If I try to be humble, she’ll think I’m an idiot, and have no respect for me.
Well. If she is going to think something, then, she must not have any reason to believe that I’m ordinary. When I try to act like I’m normal, I look insane. When I don’t try, I look freaky. So what do I do? I spend ten minutes trying to think of an answer to give this lady. Maybe she’ll walk away with no impression, whatsoever. Sometimes they do.
This time, she stays and waits for my answer. I say “I’m a freeloader. I don’t have a job. I just sit around day and eat bon bons.”
Everybody in the world has the same response to this, with no variation.
“Oh, no. Your job is very important. Your job is to take care of the children. That is so important,” says the career woman as she looks down upon me with those virtuous all holy eyes of sheer sympathy.
As if! Seriously. Dear God. Okay. She apparently, doesn’t really believe that. If she did. She wouldn’t have a job. She’s thinking…not smart. Made bad choices. Poor lady. I wonder if I should give her the dusty can of collard greens sitting in the back of my pantry.
Dear God Almighty, I hope she doesn’t ask me for money. I don’t have time for this. I seriously hope nobody sees me talking to this lady. What can I do to get away?
I heard a guy on the radio say that you’ll only have as much money and success, as the people that you hang around with. So, you have to hang out with people with money, in order to get more money. Is this why nobody will give me the time of day? Do they think that I’m just some low life middle class nobody. Should this bother me?
But whoa. Wait a second. The big haired lady who shunned me-she’s the poor one. There’s no telling how much debt she’s accumulated. She’s just two paychecks away from bankruptcy and foreclosure. If life suddenly hits this lady with the unexpected, that diamond chandelier of hers is going to come crashing down. She’s playing Jenga on a glass table with adamantium blocks.
Chances are, this lady will be divorced in 5 years, living in a studio apartment across the country, just raving about how her life is so much better- now that she’s left Karl.
I’ll buy her five thousand dollar wedding dress, at a garage sale for ten bucks, and wear it as my Halloween dress. I’ll smear it with fake blood and go as the murdered bride.
How dare she condescend me? That’s what she gets. Ha. I’ll find some nice person to invite to my gingerbread party. Forget her, man. Forget her.