The Late Arrival

Taking a twist today on Dickens' classic A Christmas Carol : I am legally blind. If anything is to be taken from this story, the reader must understand that. Rochelle, have a seat over here. Now what kind of contacts do you wear? I'm prepared for an overdue visit to the optometrist and have brought the boxes for my extended wear contacts with me. I take them out of my purse and proudly hand them to the optician. She sees the prescription, her eyes widen and she scribbles something down. Do you have your glasses with you, because you'll need to take contacts out of your eyes now. Dangit. I left my glasses at home. The glasses I should've brought with me. I take out my contacts anyway and prepare myself for the little puff of air in each eye...with full expectation of putting my contacts back in once it's over. To my surprise, the optician orders: Have a seat over there and the doctor will be right out. Uh...without my contacts? And, over where ? A...

Well, I'm a new kid, I'm just comin' up. A lot a rappers think that I can't tear it up, but I'mma show 'em, and ignore 'em... I was lost in the middle of throwback bliss perhaps induced by a menthol bubble bath when my daughter, who was in the basement doing her workout during this too-brief minute of sillyness and relaxation, came upstairs and threw a wrench in it all: MOM, THE BASEMENT TOILET IS OVERFLOWING!!! My head and body's towel-wrap along with my rapping was interrupted. I sprang out of my makeshift sauna down the stairs to find that, sure enough, our basement toilet was springing like Old Faithful. Then a funny thing happened. The rapping in my head stopped, and the water seemed to gurgle in slow-motion. The water was going to keep on doing what it was going to do and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I was helpless, and it felt okay. You know what? Get all the towels out of the linen cabinet and we're just gonna soak ...

One the way to school this morning, my daughter asked What's with you wanting stay in pajamas all the time? She had a point. At that very moment, in the car, in public I was in my pajama uniform: standard t-shirt layered with a standard blue sweatshirt, my husband's standard blue sweatpants and baseball cap. Comfort, I told her confidently. I like being comfortable. Besides, who's gonna see me? I'm only dropping you off and heading back home . Thing is, I had heard about insanely low gas prices at a station I always pass on the way home. The car was nearing a quarter of a tank, so I stopped to fill up when I heard... GOOD MORNING! I flipped around to see a TELEVISION REPORTER and CAMERA MAN. They wanted to talk with me ON THE AIR about the cheap gas I was innocently buying while I was in my PAJAMA UNIFORM looking like this: And mind you, it wasn't just a television reporter and camera man but a reporter with whom I had been on television back in t...

I was walking the dog when I heard Heeeeyy girl…You’re looking goo-ooo- ood today! A car had slowed down next to me, just enough to keep pace as I walked. The driver’s eyes slowly laser-swept my body, beginning at my chest, ending at my thighs and slowly back up again. Then he drove off. At 13, I was still adjusting to my developing body. I was all breasts, a bubble butt and stick legs. My body was foreign, yet I was the same awkward, introverted girl who wanted nothing more than to be cool and feel like one of the 'pretty girls.' But this was unwanted attention from a stranger in a strange car. It was frightening. What if he went around the block and came back to kidnap me? Even though I was completely freaked out, I didn’t tell my mom about it when I got home. My immature brain thought it was my fault and that I must have done something to invite it. I felt dirty. Of course I know better now. I’ve learned over time that the catcalling guy in the car and countl...

When I walked into the ladies room, I was greeted by oatmeal pasty thighs and blue veiny hands hitching up once-upon-a-time-white grandmaw panties. They were attached to a woman who didn't seem to care that the open stall door left her exposed to me. I was rolling into work an hour early, half awake, half bitter and in dire need of another ninety minutes of sleep. Maybe the potty training phase of my now 12 y/o girl is what left me unfazed: for about four months of my adult life, all I saw was panties, hineys and assorted potty poses; so I went on primping, preening and pretending that I was up for the song and dance act required for presenting my report at the monthly board meeting. Once she had everything hitched, gathered up and zipped up, she exited the open stall and approached. Excuse me, I know a lot of people don’t smoke anymore… I listened to her pitch and noticed her acid-etched face wasn't too many years younger than mine, and her eyes were bright-white-blu...

Hey, I know it’s summer and everything, but it’s getting late. Bedtime, kiddo. Georgia and I were watching Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs . She had seen it before, so it wasn’t like she was missing out. We said bedtime prayers, and I kissed her goodnight. The movie had sucked me in by that time and I wanted to know how everything would get sewed up in a tidy bow, so I went back to watching. It didn’t disappoint. I was entertained and nearly clapped as the credits rolled. The next morning, I told Georgia what a clever movie it was. You watched the rest of it? Seriously, mom? Now I felt stupid. Well, yeah. I got hooked and wanted to see how it ended. She and Jamie exchanged looks. Um, mom...you saw that movie already. At the movie theater. Don’t you remember? Listen, my brain’s memory chip has been deleting a ton of low-priority information lately. But an entire movie? Like, a swath of time and place that I completely blanked out on? Between you and me, I still contend ...

Once upon a time, long ago, I tried to be the Cool Chick. The unfortunate incident occurred during my mid-twenties, years before I had embraced my current Square Peg status. Here's what happened: As I was perched railside at my favorite watering hole gabbing with my bartender friend, a tall, handsome stranger sauntered in. Our eyes met. Locked. I swear angels were singing. Instead of following my usual Square Peg M.O. of giggling like a schoolgirl because a cute guy was actually checking me out, I decided to become: the Cool Chick. I coquettishly raised my drink in slo-mo, never breaking my bewitching gaze (I thought it was bewitching anyway) with this debonair stranger and proceeded to sip it. From the straw….because that’s what cool chicks do. I tilted my head ever so slightly to greet the teeny tiny cocktail straw, eyes still locked with his and… ...missed my mouth completely and instead poked the teeny tiny straw halfway up my right nostril. Needless to say, The Cool...