Wednesday, October 17, 2012

The Fence

So I left El Dorado, AR and went to Little Rock for a two day work trip. I was super excited to be reunited with my two friends (husband and wife) who recently moved from El Dorado to Little Rock, AR to pursue their fortunes in a big city. I was also looking forward to spending the night in their swanky new flat (it is nice ya’ll). As we neared their place, she suggested that we park behind her house and slip in through her back yard fence. This would keep us from having to walk really far with our shopping bags, groceries and an active toddler (she is adorable). The plan seemed sensible and being the lazy girl that I am, I quickly agreed (it had been a long day, a story for another blog). As we pulled in to the parking space directly in front of her back yard, I gathered my things and lined them inside the back yard, on the other side of the fence.

The back yard was encased in a wrought iron fence. The fence was much like the one pictured here except with slightly larger spacing.  First, my friend’s husband who is tall and slender slipped effortlessly between the bars to the other side. He then assisted his little girl who is equally as slender. As I handed him the last bag of groceries, I decided to cross to the other side. I cautiously put my foot through the bar. Except….something was not quite right. My thighs felt tight and the more of my torso that I added, the more resistance I met. Undaunted, I decided to try leading with my upper body. I squiggled and squeezed (I felt like I was getting a free mammogram).

Side note, October is breast cancer awareness month, ladies please make sure to do a monthly self exam. It takes less than a minute and it is free. For more information please visit  Susan G.Komen for the Cure

Alas, not even half a boob could go through the fence. Again, I decided to employ a different approach and lead with my entire left side. As I squirmed to get even a couple inches past, I had a vision of a scene from Lord of the Rings. The more I struggled, the more the scene where Gandalf yelled, “You shall not pass! You shall not pass! You shall not pass!” flashed through my mind. I finally decided to give up. My friend gave me an understanding but sympathetic smile. I stood there, wishing the ground would open and swallow me up. I couldn't dare to ask her to help squish me through, but I could not go on trying to squeeze through the fence, looking like Free Willy (you get this reference if you were raised in the 90’s). I simply did not want to try until I got trapped (that is not how I want to be featured on the 5 O’clock news).

Alas, the skinny gods had decided that I was not to pass. I have read novels and watched movies where the skinny girl had a fat friend, but I had never really thought about it in real life. Then it dawned on me, I.was.the.fat.friend! (Ish got real…very fast). As I stood on the other side, looking longingly at the door that was only a couple feet away, I felt a wave of frustration well up inside me. Sensing my discomfort, my friend asked her husband if he would mind walking me around to the main entrance while she took the baby inside. He acquiesced and again effortlessly glided in-between the fence posts back to the outside. His wife picked up the diaper bag and she too squeezed her fit frame through the fence to the other side.

As we walked to the main gate, I felt a sense of sadness. How had this become? How had the junk in my trunk increased exponentially? How was it that I could not even dare to squeeze even one lovely lady lump on to the other side of the fence?

Have you experienced something similar or have you been denied entrance through the "fence" of life? If so, how did you handle it? Feel free to comment.

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Prince, an artist from my teenage years

 After a couple of hours of tossing and turning, I decided to give up on the idea of sleeping and let my mind wander. I started thinking of things that made me happy as a teenager and my first thought was Prince (or The Artist Formerly Known as Prince as they called him back then). I loved Prince, from his high falsetto to his rich deep base, his music moved me. Most 70’s, 80’s and even early 90’s babies can belt out at least one Prince song. 

Either you loved his music, wanted his body or wanted to raid his closet for those tailored suits and heels (that only Prince could carry off, I must admit he knew how to color block). We were mesmerized and fascinated by this sexual, strange yet weird character who marched to the beat of his own drum (or 27 other instruments that he can play). Prince was the only man that declared that he wanted to be my lover. He lamented and recounted the things that he would do if he was my girlfriend. He was passionate enough to declare “I would die for you” and was the only guy that wanted to see me in laughing in the “Purple Rain” (still don’t know what Purple Rain is, but damn, I didn’t care). Prince promised me “Diamonds and Pearls” and even declared that he would give me the world if he could! Ooh, this brother was not only bad but he was smooth! His explicit lyrics and the way he moved and gyrated on the stage made mothers scared for their daughters, literally (Parents Music Resource Center, an organization that advocates mandatory warning labels for explicit lyrical content was formed by Tipper Gore and a group of concerned parents after Mrs. Gore and her young daughter listened to one of Prince’s songs).


Apart from giving Mrs. Gore a heart attack, Prince was making women’s heart race all across America and Europe. Prince is the only artist that I have known who changed his name to a symbol (with no pronunciation) and the world accepted it as a normal occurrence! It was sometimes comical to hear news reports refer to him as The Artist Formerly Known as Prince, The Artist or my favorite the Symbol of Love. I think everyone understood his fight, his struggle and his protest enough to accept the name change. Many of his fans (myself included) expelled a sigh of relief when he finally changed his name back to Prince. 
All these thoughts raced through my mind as I replayed the songs belted out by the petite, strange, complex, introverted off stage and extroverted on stage individual who invaded my bedroom through my radio as a teenager every weekend as I laid in my bed and stared at the ceiling. As in the old days, I slowly closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

I claim Prince as one of my favorite artists back in the day, who was your favorite artist? Feel free to share.

Monday, October 1, 2012

To my husband on his birthday...

Twenty-eight years ago, God started working on my soul mate. He came in to this world to humble God fearing parents who instilled in him courage, strong conviction and love.  This sweet baby boy grabbed the world by its reigns. The world taught him wisdom and tenacity. Life taught him to survive and compassion.  Five years ago, this boy met a girl at a gathering. He said hello and she said hello back and the rest was history. It was a love story twenty –something years in the making. It is a love story that has yet to run its course. Today I celebrate my best friend’s birthday. I celebrate my husband’s grand entrance into this world twenty-eight years ago!
A message to the birthday boy:  Woobie, I celebrate the man that you are and marvel at the man you are turning in to. You amaze and surprise me every day. I see a transformation in you with each passing day.  As a friend you have been loyal. As a husband you have shown me how deeply I can love. As a partner, you have shown me the true meaning of partnership and endurance. I thank God for letting our paths cross. Life is sweeter because God allowed two imperfect people like us to share our life together. I thank your parents for the wonderful job they did raising you. As you face the rest of your life, I pray that God may grant you many more years. You truly are my Small Town Divo. Happy Birthday Twinkie doodle! I love you.

Your adoring wife,

Small Town Diva