Seems I'm Bursting at the Seams

There’s nothing more shattering to one’s self-esteem than to get a new driver’s license.  You leave the house, hair combed, makeup on, wearing an unstained tee shirt for once in your life.  And then, in the twenty minutes it takes to get to the DMV, you find that your hair has acquired that windblown look despite the fact that you drove with the windows up, quite possibly because you dropped your reading glasses on the sidewalk.  You bend over to retrieve them, hoping all the while that you won’t split your pants open, and you can actually feel your hair shift upon your head: What was off to one side, now hangs straight down.  Those perfect bangs, well, they’re a mess now.
 Your lipstick has disappeared thanks to that apple you ate on the way over.  You suspect you have apple between your teeth.  But no matter.  You never smile at these things anyway. 
The employee asks a few questions; the computer screen asks a few questions.  You sit and stare at the yellow smiley face sticker and arrange your face in what you think will be a comfortably neutral expression.  Moments later, a preview is displayed on a gigantic screen; a screen so big the people waiting at the end of the line can see your photo and snicker at your panicked look.  Another picture is taken.  You tell the employee it’s good enough just to get that awful picture off the screen.  She prints the license and hands it to you still warm.  In the car, you remove the license from your wallet, study it intently.  Every wrinkle is blown up; every gray hair a siren; and…is that apple between your teeth?  You wonder if you really look that bad.  You go home and have a cookie.
* * *
I got an email the other day, from someone who’d found my blog somehow. 
Dear Kelly, the email began.  I waited for the compliments; the praise; the accolades.  Did someone want to publish my work?
The letter continued.  It went something like this.  I was reading your blog and wanted to get your opinion on a weight loss/diet ap I’m writing.  The email went on to describe how this ap would work and then asked if I’d like to be informed when it became available.
What?
Where did this gal get the idea that I needed any help with weight loss?  What made her think I needed to lose weight at all?
* * *
I am a plunger—that is to say, when I make up my mind to do something I just go ahead and do it.  Never mind the ramifications if I’ve made a mistake.  The decision is made, the deed is done, let’s go.  This mindset could possibly explain why, after crocheting three scarves, a hat and two baskets, of all things, I suddenly felt capable to crochet an afghan with unpronounceable stitches and strange scary symbols that resemble hieroglyphs.
This plunging behavior also explains the name of my blog: The day I decided to set it up, I was prompted for a name.  I got ahold of my sister on Facebook.  We tossed names back and forth for an hour:
I Knew You Weren’t Listening?
Too whiney.
The Write Stuff?
Cutesy.
This is stupid.  Why can’t I just start writing?
You need a name.
Writing in the Margins?
Yes!  Sounds like you’re busy.  You’re squeezing in writing whenever you can.  Perfect.
OK, hang on.  I entered the name.  Shoot.  It’s taken.
After some time, we came up with the name.  I shared it with my husband.  “What do you think?”
“It’s…” 
“It’s what?  What?  WHAT?”
Now, my husband is a plodder.  He prefers the term deliberate, but you get the picture.  Before he makes a decision, he gathers all the data and studies it.  He looks for patterns, trends, aberrations.  He looks out the window to check the weather.  He watches the bird migration patterns.  He studies the clouds.  Then he looks back at the data.  Finally...finally.  Finally, he’ll come to a decision.  And then he’ll look at his data again to make sure the decision was the right one to make.  “It’s…”   
“I can take it.”  I clenched my fists.  “I won’t get angry.”
“It makes you sound like you’re splitting your pants open.  Like you’re kind of chunky.”
“Well I AM kind of chunky.”  As Squints says, you’re butt’s not TOO big, Mom.  “I like it.  I’m going with it.”  And I finished setting up my blog.
“But do you want to share that with the world?”
“Why not?”
* * *
I told my husband about the email at dinner.  There was a slight smirk on his lips; a bit of a glimmer in his eye.
So, I think I’ll send a reply to that email. 
Thank you for your lovely idea, but I have no need of a weight loss ap.  But if you can write an ap that will make my driver’s license picture look like my graduation photo, you’ve got yourself a sale.

Labels: , ,

Writing in the Margins, Bursting at the Seams: Seems I'm Bursting at the Seams

Sunday, October 16, 2011

Seems I'm Bursting at the Seams

There’s nothing more shattering to one’s self-esteem than to get a new driver’s license.  You leave the house, hair combed, makeup on, wearing an unstained tee shirt for once in your life.  And then, in the twenty minutes it takes to get to the DMV, you find that your hair has acquired that windblown look despite the fact that you drove with the windows up, quite possibly because you dropped your reading glasses on the sidewalk.  You bend over to retrieve them, hoping all the while that you won’t split your pants open, and you can actually feel your hair shift upon your head: What was off to one side, now hangs straight down.  Those perfect bangs, well, they’re a mess now.
 Your lipstick has disappeared thanks to that apple you ate on the way over.  You suspect you have apple between your teeth.  But no matter.  You never smile at these things anyway. 
The employee asks a few questions; the computer screen asks a few questions.  You sit and stare at the yellow smiley face sticker and arrange your face in what you think will be a comfortably neutral expression.  Moments later, a preview is displayed on a gigantic screen; a screen so big the people waiting at the end of the line can see your photo and snicker at your panicked look.  Another picture is taken.  You tell the employee it’s good enough just to get that awful picture off the screen.  She prints the license and hands it to you still warm.  In the car, you remove the license from your wallet, study it intently.  Every wrinkle is blown up; every gray hair a siren; and…is that apple between your teeth?  You wonder if you really look that bad.  You go home and have a cookie.
* * *
I got an email the other day, from someone who’d found my blog somehow. 
Dear Kelly, the email began.  I waited for the compliments; the praise; the accolades.  Did someone want to publish my work?
The letter continued.  It went something like this.  I was reading your blog and wanted to get your opinion on a weight loss/diet ap I’m writing.  The email went on to describe how this ap would work and then asked if I’d like to be informed when it became available.
What?
Where did this gal get the idea that I needed any help with weight loss?  What made her think I needed to lose weight at all?
* * *
I am a plunger—that is to say, when I make up my mind to do something I just go ahead and do it.  Never mind the ramifications if I’ve made a mistake.  The decision is made, the deed is done, let’s go.  This mindset could possibly explain why, after crocheting three scarves, a hat and two baskets, of all things, I suddenly felt capable to crochet an afghan with unpronounceable stitches and strange scary symbols that resemble hieroglyphs.
This plunging behavior also explains the name of my blog: The day I decided to set it up, I was prompted for a name.  I got ahold of my sister on Facebook.  We tossed names back and forth for an hour:
I Knew You Weren’t Listening?
Too whiney.
The Write Stuff?
Cutesy.
This is stupid.  Why can’t I just start writing?
You need a name.
Writing in the Margins?
Yes!  Sounds like you’re busy.  You’re squeezing in writing whenever you can.  Perfect.
OK, hang on.  I entered the name.  Shoot.  It’s taken.
After some time, we came up with the name.  I shared it with my husband.  “What do you think?”
“It’s…” 
“It’s what?  What?  WHAT?”
Now, my husband is a plodder.  He prefers the term deliberate, but you get the picture.  Before he makes a decision, he gathers all the data and studies it.  He looks for patterns, trends, aberrations.  He looks out the window to check the weather.  He watches the bird migration patterns.  He studies the clouds.  Then he looks back at the data.  Finally...finally.  Finally, he’ll come to a decision.  And then he’ll look at his data again to make sure the decision was the right one to make.  “It’s…”   
“I can take it.”  I clenched my fists.  “I won’t get angry.”
“It makes you sound like you’re splitting your pants open.  Like you’re kind of chunky.”
“Well I AM kind of chunky.”  As Squints says, you’re butt’s not TOO big, Mom.  “I like it.  I’m going with it.”  And I finished setting up my blog.
“But do you want to share that with the world?”
“Why not?”
* * *
I told my husband about the email at dinner.  There was a slight smirk on his lips; a bit of a glimmer in his eye.
So, I think I’ll send a reply to that email. 
Thank you for your lovely idea, but I have no need of a weight loss ap.  But if you can write an ap that will make my driver’s license picture look like my graduation photo, you’ve got yourself a sale.

Labels: , ,

10 Comments:

At October 16, 2011 at 10:01 PM , Anonymous songbyrd said...

like-like-like!!!

 
At October 17, 2011 at 8:20 AM , Anonymous Victoria KP said...

Love it! We are a plodder vs. plunger family as well.

 
At October 17, 2011 at 8:33 AM , Anonymous Beverly Diehl said...

Not that you're not special, because of course you are, but I suspect this weight-loss app person sends out e-mails hither and yon, without any regards as to how the recipients actually look.

ONE time I got a DMV photo that was good, even flattering. Wanted to blow it up and use it for everything - and of course, it went away in four years, whereas the ones that make us look like we just escaped for prison, THOSE are the pis that auto-renew forever!

 
At October 17, 2011 at 9:14 AM , Anonymous Kgwaite said...

Thanks!

 
At October 17, 2011 at 9:15 AM , Anonymous Kgwaite said...

Thanks for reading, Victoria!

 
At October 17, 2011 at 9:19 AM , Anonymous Kgwaite said...

Never met a DMV photo that I liked. Maybe someday...

 
At October 17, 2011 at 11:02 AM , Anonymous Cheryl P. said...

Kelly, I occasionally get one of these emails but what really sets me on fire is when I get something in the regular mail wanting me to participate in a study for a weight lose product. As I am pretty small, I want to send a letter back asking what the hell brought them to me. It was a similar situation that prompted me to put my picture on the copyright page of my blog as several comments inferred that I was obese. Now I find that people just think I am REALLY old. You can't win. Fortunately, I haven't been asked to participate in a study about an anti-aging product.

 
At October 17, 2011 at 6:14 PM , Anonymous Katie687 said...

LOL!!! - I love the name of your blog and never did I think that it made you sound "plump" which you are NOT. You look great! It made me think that you have a ton of ideas and that you can't wait to get them down on paper. I loved this story. I recently had to have a "physical" for life insurance. The woman doing the exam asked me if the weight listed on my driver's license was correct. I said no and gave her my weight minus ten pounds. Then she pulled out a scale and made me get on it. What a butthead.

 
At October 17, 2011 at 7:31 PM , Anonymous kgwaite said...

Butthead, indeed. I think scales should be outlawed.

 
At October 25, 2011 at 7:53 AM , Anonymous shellthings said...

I got that same pitch for a weight loss app. Grrrrr.

 

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