The Weird Kid

Toothbrushes are all ugly. As much pattern and texture as can possibly be incorporated into two colors on a stick. But what does it matter, it's just a toothbrush? Still I picked the only one, $.69, flat and solid-purple, that was nice. Because I'm going to be the kind of person that has a nice looking toothbrush in a nice bathroom.

I bought a piece of amber at a witchy-woman store, for $4. Not because I believe in it's metaphysical properties of cleansing and healing, but because it's beautiful and I can hold it and think about cleansing and healing. There is a difference. And I want to be the kind of woman who buys her lotions and metaphysically enchanted rocks at a witchy-woman store.

Then I faltered, at the lovely new playground with the rubber ground, built so kids can't hurt themselves, attractive to a certain kind of parent. I had first gone to the old one, with the wet wood-shavings and faded paint, but there was nothing there short and simple enough for Smudge to play on.

My faltering wasn't the thinking that I belonged at the old and tired playground, though I liked it there better, empty and green bushes and blackberries. My faltering was my increasing belief that the other parents, all thin, all young, all blonde, all pretty, all wealthy in appearance, were paying attention to me. Me in my over-sized smock of a shirt that I sweat in. Me in my dirty sandals. My hair and my double chin. And thinking...no they weren't thinking. Just aware of me, and that was enough.

And I'd tried that morning. I put mousse in my hair. I didn't know what to do once it was in there, though. It still eventually ended up in a bun on my head. I tried on three shirt, too, before settling on one that wouldn't show the shelf the jeans gave me. I guess I felt that "try" had resulted in "fail."

So keep trying!

I need more time. First toothbrushes, then people.