What’s a Shoe to Do?

shoe heel messWell, that’s a bummer. This weekend I grabbed one of my favorite pairs of summer shoes and slid them on before heading out the door.  You know the kind, a little worn but still cute, comfortable, perfect size heel, goes with everything… your go-to shoes that you hope will last you forever, the ones you pick over most of the others in your closet.

It wasn’t until I was sitting in church and I happened to look down for a closer inspection because they had felt just a bit funny walking, did I notice that the heel tips were broken. On one shoe, it was completely gone, on the other, half missing.  So first there was a small feeling of embarrassment, hoping no one could tell that my shoes were clearly reaching the age of falling apart, not to mention that one side of me was ¼ inch shorter than the other.  But that was quickly replaced by the feeling of “oh, no, poor babies, I need to get you to the shoe doctor!”

And there’s the problem. A few years ago, I would have just dropped them off at the little shoe repair place around the corner from my office at the time.  It was a classic cobbler’s shop – small, dark, wall to wall shoes, and a husband and wife team for whom English was a second language, and I could rarely understand them, but as long as we both understood my shoe needs, all was fine. They were talented, affordable, and convenient.   And now, sadly, no longer in business.

As I exited church, I realized I have no idea where another shoe repair place may be.  A quick Google search brought up 3 options immediately: A high-end shoe boutique, where I’m sure they only would be interested in repairing their own high-end shoes, and two others in separate states, at least 2 – 3 hours away.  Wait, what?  Really?

Now feeling a big panicky, I dove into Yelp. Surely there were other options.  Yelp served me up a couple more options, closer by, although about 30 minutes from me, with limited hours and little available information. Sighing, I put my shoes aside when I got home, resigned to the fact that it now make take at least a couple of weeks until I can get to one of these repair shops around my work schedule.  I suppose that will give me time to review my other summer shoes, I’m sure there are more that need attention.

It made me wonder, why are there so few cobbler’s shops now?  Is it because shoes are becoming practically disposable, and we are to just shop for new ones when they get worn out?  No, I don’t think so.   I know my budget won’t allow for that, and I expect most other R.W.’s can’t run out to buy replacements on a regular basis either.  Instead, I think it is yet another example of a dying trade because no one is interested in providing the service.  I can’t imagine too many young people with an overwhelming desire to fix shoes, nor is Cobbling a much desired college trade course.

It’s kind of like watch repair.  Yes, kids, there used to be places you could go to get a watch repaired, or a battery in a watch replaced.  Oh, wait, maybe I should explain. A watch was something we used to wear on our wrists, like a bracelet that kept time.  Everyone wore them.  And there were nice people available to fix them, usually while you wait.   Now it requires finding a jewelry store with an actual jeweler on site who knows how to fix things, and is willing to do so on something you didn’t buy there in the first place.

What’s interesting is where some of those services have albeit disappeared, others have popped up. Alterations and seamstress shops are fairly plentiful – because we are all in a hurry, and lack either the skills, the tools, or the desire and time to hem a pair of pants, repair a tear, or sew on a button.  It took me years before I got up the guts to go in to my local alterations place, because I kept hearing my mother and my 4-H leader of my youth in my head telling me I could and should do it myself.  But I’m not gonna lie, paying someone $12 to perfectly hem a pair of pants is totally worth the aggravation of me trying to find the time to do it and have them come out hideous and uneven.  Sorry, mom.

Plenty of other convenience services are available, like prepped meals to take home and pretend they were home cooked, drive-through pharmacies, and walk-in hair and nail salons with no appointment needed.

So I can get my clothing repaired or altered, get my nails done because I’m lousy at doing them myself, bring home prepared dinners, and my husband can usually replace the batteries in my watches (yes, Virginia, I still wear them).  But what’s a girl to do about a shoe boo-boo?

shoe cheatI will admit that over the winter, I discovered that the heel on a pair of my boots had started to peel, leaving an ugly white patch on a supposed-to-be black heel.  Since I wanted to wear the boots that day to work, I got out my trusty black Sharpie and colored the heel back in.  And you know darn well those boots are still in my closet, not professionally repaired, still sporting my MacGyver-esque Sharpie technique.   Oh, now, come on, don’t tell me you’ve never done the quick last-minute cheats of pinning up a loose hem with tape, using a safety pin when a button has fallen off to keep your pants up, or colored in a shoe scuff mark with a marker?   Lack of time and urgent necessity requires R.W. creativity.

But sometimes, those loving-hands-at-home fixes aren’t enough.  And we need professional help.  Within 10 minutes of my house, I have 5 pizza places, 3 pharmacies, 2 urgent medical care facilities, at least 3 car repair shops and probably half a dozen nail salons.  All eager and ready to get me fixed up when I need them.  But a broken heel on my shoe?  Sorry, that’s not so easy.

I’m going to have to hobble a few extra miles to find a kind “sole” to help me.  In the meantime, please don’t look too closely at my shoes, and pay no attention if I seem to have a bit of a limp or am a bit shorter on one side.  It’s hard for me to say goodbye to my favorites.

 

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It’s That Time Again

truthAaaahhh, Spring has sprung. The time of year when everything gets green and starts blooming, the days get a bit longer, the temperatures warm, bunnies are hopping, and….. allergy sufferers are cursing pollen, our to do lists get even longer with the addition of outdoor projects, and we are ALL on diets.  Kermit was right, it’s not easy being green.

‘Tis the season of the NTD (Need To Diet). NTD is as expected and reliable as, well, flowers blooming.  Just like spring, it may come a bit later than usual, but have no fear – it will be here.  It is bad enough that we emerge from our heavier clothes, see more of our pale skin, and try to fit into our summer clothes – but it is the total dread we feel in knowing that some day very soon, we’ll need to don a pair of shorts or – DUN DUN DUN, a swimsuit.  Yeee gads.  Welcome aboard, NTD.  Wish I could say it’s nice to see you again.

It doesn’t really matter whether we are determined to lose an extra 10 pounds of winter weight, or we are panicked because we have gone up two clothing sizes – we convince ourselves that now is the time to shed it.  After all, there’s more good fresh produce available for healthy eating, and the weather is better for us to get more active.  Suddenly there are tons of people out walking, running, biking – we are like moles coming out of the ground after a long hibernation.   Should be piece of cake (err, kale) to drop those unwanted pounds quickly, right?

Well…. yeah, until we realize that there are more social opportunities like backyard BBQs with tables of yummy food, and that outdoor exercising makes us sweaty and hot and isn’t any easier just because we aren’t in a gym. Not so easy. As a matter of fact, NTD is kind of hellish.

If you are like me, my NTD is a fickle beast.  (aka I have a lack of willpower).  I know darn well what will work – lower caloric intake, avoid sugars and carbs, more lean protein, and kick up my exercise several notches.  Some days I’ll wake up ready and eager, repeating my health mantras:  Today’s the day I get serious. My body is a temple, and I’m going to get thin and toned and feel awesome.  I’ll start off strong, and I may even have a couple good, healthy days.  Then all it takes is a dinner out with friends, or a fresh pitcher of margaritas, or a craving to bake cookies, and quickly my mantras change to:  You only live once, life is short, eat dessert first.  The struggle is real.

I have so much admiration for those of you out there to stick to your plan, make long term life changes, lose weight and get in shape. You have earned your right to feel amazing, walk tall, and heck – buy a new swimsuit.  As for the rest of us – we deserve to feel proud too.  Because it doesn’t really matter that we aren’t going to make it back into the jeans we wore 5 years ago, lose our extra rolls, or look like Jillian Michaels.  If at least 50% of the time we make some healthy choices and learn how to feel good about ourselves, then our NTD plan becomes a successful WTR (We Totally Rock) plan.  Sure there are going to be those days when we don’t feel like WTR – especially when we pull out a favorite old pair of shorts that no longer button, or we notice new cellulite.  But there are going to be other days when we are at a pool party wearing a super cute sundress and being thankful for the extra workout we fit in that day.

In the end, that NTD is really all about balance.  And Spring is about fresh starts and lighter moods.  So if you’ll excuse me, I had a good healthy eating, active day and I’m going to treat myself to a Dove chocolate.  Because I deserve it – it even says so on the wrapper.

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Posted Perfection?

cinderalla ragsBeautifully posed selfies, ridiculously cute pets, adorable children, delicious plated home cooked cuisine, loving couples, gorgeously appointed home décor, and fabulous hairstyles. Swipe, swipe, swipe… yup, it’s my social media feed.  Otherwise known as a platform for presenting our pretend perfection.

Want to post a photo and it isn’t exactly stunning?  No worries. There are so many editing options and filters available now, we can create the image that we most want to show the world, then sit back and wait for the likes and comments, and count our growing number of followers with glee.

I read an article recently on this topic, and the author very accurately likened our social media feeds to receiving 50 Christmas cards every day.  All those friends, associates and families living enviably nifty lives, posted there just waiting to be seen.  How lovely.  How unrealistic.

I’m just as guilty as the next Instagramer or Facebooker.  I recently went on a bucket list dream vacation with my family to Ireland. Every evening we posted the best of the photos from the day so our loved ones could follow along with our adventures.  We shared photos of each other posed by historic and beautiful ruins, grand vistas, super cute sheep and quaint country roads.  What I didn’t post were any of the less-than perfect moments, like when we wacked the side mirror on the rental car, when we were going in circles trying to find the next B&B, when we were drenched with wind and rain,  our teen’s hangry moments,  or even the hole-in-the-wall bar we mistook for a pub that served no food yet was clearly home for a few red-faced alcoholics.

Nope. Didn’t share that stuff.  It seems that Social Media is the new Cinderella.  We post our Night at the Ball images, when in real life we spend more of our time in our schlubby clothes cleaning the kitchen.  We aren’t necessarily posting “fake news” about ourselves, but we are clearly putting only our best selves out there, filtering our realities to garner oooh’s, aaah’s and win the ever-coveted thumbs up or heart emoji.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy these escapes from reality.  There are some folks out there who do use social media to share the dark side. Some choose to post political pontifications (aka rants), share disgusting photos of broken appendages or starved dogs, complain about partners, or leave mysterious ‘woe is me’ messages.  And quite honestly, I swipe quickly by them all, happily in search of the next kitten video.

But could there be a happy medium?   What would happen if every once in a while we shared just a bit of our real selves?  Just as I’ve strived to share insights and stories about our real lives as real women in this blog, and I share my disdain for the unrealistic glossy magazines of impossibly perfect people, shouldn’t I take a bit of my own medicine, and sometimes share the real story?

Perhaps we’d all feel better about ourselves if we saw more of ourselves in each other.  Occasional bad hair days, mismatched outfits from getting dressed in the dark, epically failed new recipes, slobbery dirty dogs, and children who have just walked through the house in muddy shoes.   I think there’s an empty space in our digitally social lives that we need to fill with snapshots of what our lives are really like – things we can all relate to.  Imagine flipping past the next round of perfect pics and coming across something that gives us pause to say “I totally have been there, done that”, or laugh and say “oh, thank God I’m not the only one.”

In short, every now and then I think we should be brave enough to show our soot-covered Cinderella selves.  I know it would make me feel better about myself – especially on the days when I don’t feel like I can compare to the lovely ladies at the fancy Ball.

So I’m going to give it a go.  I’m going to try to post, at least once a week, a small piece of content that tells the real story. Nothing overly sad, disgusting or terrifying – heck, we have News feeds to do that for us.  Just a bit of reality that may slow down the swiping and give my fellow R.W. followers a reason to smile and feel normal.

Who’s with me?  Let’s show what our lives are like without our glass slippers every once in a while.  I’ve got some really ugly old fuzzy ones that I’ll bet look really familiar.

 

 

 

 

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No One Told Me….

whisperThe older I get, the more I find irony in the phrase that “knowledge is power”, while so very much of life is based on trial and error.

We spend approximately 16 – 18 years of our early lives in school.  Learning, testing, gaining skills.  Then we are out in the “real” world.  And over time, we begin to learn how little we know about that real world.  News flash:  it doesn’t get easier the older we get.   Much of what we learned in those first 16 years starts to fade, replaced by effort and experience.  As a matter of fact, as life takes us through increasingly new and challenging experiences, we start mumbling “no one told me about this part.”

For a while, we rely on the generations before us to impart their wisdom upon us. But what happens when those generations pass, and we are left…well, with our own lessons?  What then?  Are WE suddenly in the role of the wise elders?  Wow, that’s a frightening prospect.

For all the “help” books that are published every year, along with lengthy manuals and doctoral theses, and the trillions of YouTube videos and Google searches, there still seems to be a lack of being able to just tell me like it is – short version.  There’s no Cliff Notes on how to raise children, how to survive teen angst and making college decisions, what to really expect in caregiving for elders, how to stay happy in 20+ years of marriage, deal with budget stress, handle job changes late in life, and – here’s the biggie – cope with our own aging.  Now, please, don’t start flooding me with books to read.  I know there are many great authors, therapists, doctors and motivational speakers out there who would love to tell me how to handle any of the above.  But what about the REAL story?  The stuff we learn from our mom, our aunts, our BFFs – and, truly, the things we learn by just making our own mistakes?  There’s no greater solution, like it or not, than trial and error.

Every now and then, when we are lucky, a big lightbulb goes off, or someone has the bravery and experience to honestly tell us like it is.  Sometimes this is in the form of a comforting friend who has “been there done that”.  Other times, that wisdom comes from being willing to ask questions to the right people.

I had a big fat lightbulb moment this morning and it changed my whole attitude for the rest of the day – in a good way.  And it prompted me to want to shout this wisdom from the rooftops to all the other R.W.’s out there who are experiencing the same thing I am.  Ok, well, this isn’t a rooftop, it is a blog post. Kind of like I’m whispering in your ear.  It’s safer this way, as I would probably get arrested for spouting weird crap that only I find amazing from the top of a building…. But I digress..

First, a bit of background.  All of my doctors are women.  I have absolutely nothing against male doctors.  It is just that I have found that, especially later in life, female doctors totally “get it.”  They are the ones who will tell you kindly and gently what you need to know like a friend, they have likely experienced it all too, but they have the years of medical knowledge and skill to actually back it up when the rest of us are pretty much winging it.  I am also lucky that at this point, all of my doctors are totally awesome.

This morning I had a check up with my Oncologist.  A lovely, wonderful woman.  After the usual exam and discussions about menopause, she asked if there was anything else on my mind, any questions, concerns, etc.   Let me pause right here.  Far too many women, especially in our younger years, are hesitant to ask questions or to say “well, you know, this has been bothering me…”  I’m not sure why we hold back, but we do.  Maybe embarrassment, maybe the feeling of “that’s not important enough to bring up”, maybe a bit of head-in-the-sand syndrome, who knows.  But with age comes confidence, so I have moved comfortably into the zone of sharing with no fear.  I told my Dr. that I was feeling frustrated that I couldn’t shed this extra 10 pounds I’ve been carrying around for a while.

She leaned back and told me the following.  (You younger women reading this, bear with me – this is good for you to know too).  The average woman between the age of 47 and 55 gains an additional 7 – 10 pounds during those years.  And they gain a tummy roll, even if they never had one before, and even though we all hate it.  That tummy is not all about being fat.  It is keeping us healthy.  Seriously.  It is there to assist with hormones and providing estrogen our bodies need as we head into our menopausal years. The Dr. even told me that our tummies help fight osteoporosis… and women who have that bit of extra weight and that stomach pooch live longer.

I’m sure I looked at her as if I had just heard “I love you forever” from Adam Levine or George Clooney, or that she had just handed me a winning lottery ticket.  I said “Really?  Wow, you just made me feel so much better!  I never knew that!”.  She smiled and said “You need to learn to love your tummy.”

Ok, so maybe for many of you this is either old news, or no big deal.  But for me, at that moment, it was that slice of “no one ever told me that”, and it was exactly what I needed to hear. I swear my mood boosted to level 10.

By the way, for any men who have hung in here long enough to read to this point, please take note as well.  Don’t be critical or discouraging if your mature lady’s shape has changed… she is going to be healthier and live longer because of it.  (Not like your donut belly, by the way.  Yes, we do notice it. We are just too nice to point it out.)

I realize her information does not give me license to give up eating my salads, stop exercising, and become a sloth on the sofa who eats chocolate cake every day.  BUT, her information did something vitally important. It made me feel a whole lot better about myself. It also made me think about all of the other R.W.’s out there who could use that good information and mood boost and feel better about themselves too.

Because, in the end, all of our knowledge gathering, trial and error, and figuring out “why didn’t someone tell me about this” moments are not about becoming experts at everything, or geniuses, or Wonder Woman, or even the best ever caregivers.  Life is all about just doing the best we can. Getting through each day, making it just a bit better for ourselves and those around us.  And that is exactly what Dr. S. did for me this morning.

To celebrate, I’m going to try really hard to follow her advice and appreciate my new form.  And I may just grab a handful of m&m’s for my tummy… you know, just to say thank you.

 

Posted in adults, age, beauty, communication, doctors, education, fitness, Food, friends, Health, life phases, medical, moods, real women, self care, skills, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Little Things

emptyIt’s been another long day of work, child care, home maintenance, family issues, yard work, laundry, errands, food prep – you name it. Finally you are ready to climb those stairs at the end of the night, doing all your last “going to bed” activities: putting the dog out, clearing the table and counters, setting out items for the morning, checking on children, shutting down lights and locking doors. Bone tired, you just want to climb into bed, read 2 pages of a good book before you fall asleep…and suddenly you remember. You stripped the sheets off your bed that morning to put them in the wash.

Raise your hand if you just groaned and said “ugh, I HATE that!”

We R.W.’s can take on big issues all day long… Work deadlines? Bring ‘em on. Family emergency? Traffic control and ambulance mode, we got it. Baby sitter cancellation? Multi-tasking momma’s on it. Spouse loss of job? Ready with compassion & strength. Relationship issues? That’s why we have BFFs and ice cream. Sudden major schedule change? Ready to turn on a dime.   We spend a lot of our lives coping with the big stuff “all in a day’s work”. But sometimes, it’s the little things that set us off.

That’s not to say that we don’t know how to not sweat the small stuff. We juggle small stuff in and around the big stuff all the time, never losing our firm grip on our coping skills. But sometimes, when we are just plain worn out, those little things can turn us from Wonder Woman into either the Wicked Witch or Cinderella BEFORE her glass slipper. I call those little things our AYFKM: “Are you freakin’ kidding me?” moments.

Let’s revisit the bed sheet issue. It’s likely that not only is your bed bare and needing to be made up, but you likely have wet laundry still in the washing machine, all the way down in the basement at 11:00 at night. AYFKM?

Or how about when you’ve spent 90 minutes in the grocery store, list and coupons in hand, trudged all the way home to unload and put everything away, only to find out 10 minutes later there was something else the household needed. AYFKM?

For any of a million reasons, you are running late in the morning and need to get to an important meeting. You slide into your car, throwing your bags in the seat next to you then realize your gas tank is on fumes because you neglected to stop for a fill-up last night. AYFKM?

Your bladder woke you at 1:30am, after which per usual your brain kicked in to worry about premature death, global warming, and weight loss. After 45 minutes of restlessness, you finally drift off to sleep. Only to be woken 20 minutes later to the sound of your pet or child puking with no warning. AYFKM?

And therein lies the primary issue that contributes to our downfall. Whenever these moments happen, we are tired. Exhausted. Spent. Stick-a-fork-in-us-done. We have spent our days bravely and powerfully handling major challenges and crises while playing the role of family coordinator until we ourselves are running on fumes like our cars. So in those moments, we are reduced to our alternative personalities and either start cursing like truck drivers, or end up weeping in a bathroom stall.

It’s just gonna happen. After all, ladies, we are always tired. And there’s always going to be some little thing that just for a moment takes us down.   But that’s ok, because we can take heart in knowing that at that exact AYFKM moment, there are at least a dozen other R.W’s nearby experiencing the exact same thing.

Then we can pull up our big girl pants, laugh it off (preferably over a glass of wine with a BFF), and vow that the next time, we’ll get out fresh sheets right away. So when we think of the old adage ‘you’ve made your bed, now lay in it’, we can smile and think: Yes. Happily, I will.

 

Posted in Chores, cleaning, convenience, family, friends, Health, home, home chores, life phases, moods, real women, Relationships, routines, self care, stress, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Travel Reality

womens roomI spent the past week traveling… first for work, then a couple of extra days for leisure and fun.   When we R.W.’s go out on the road (or air), we have to live via the mantra of “expect the unexpected.”  We do our very best to plan ahead and be as prepared as possible, yet the only thing that is guaranteed is there will be events for which we did not plan, or that are out of our control. For example:

No matter how much we’ve over-packed, we will forget something. Or there will be some item we wish we had brought with us, but didn’t.

There will be a crying child on the airplane.

There will be someone coughing and hacking and spreading their germs near us – perhaps in an elevator, at a restaurant, or on public transportation.

At some point there will be a food item and no way to eat it. For example, a bag of trail mix that won’t open (with not a pair of scissors in sight), or a cup of yogurt with no spoon, or a soda with a cap that won’t come off.

The available WiFi will be sporadic at best, and will crap out mid-way through an important email or when attempting to post the perfect picture on Instagram.

There will be a required visit to CVS or Walgreens. — for something. Like allergy medicine, band-aids, tweezers, Airborne, bottled water, a magazine, sunscreen or chocolate.

An impulse purchase will be made for an item that will never be used, worn, or played with ever again upon arrival back home.

There will be at least one minor crisis back home that we will have to handle long-distance as if we are air-traffic controllers or online M.D.’s who are always on call.

A full un-interrupted night of sleep will be unobtainable due to temperature issues, elevator noise, other guests, foreign food & drink digestive issues, or lumpy pillows. But that’s ok, because R.W.’s never get a full night’s rest at home either.

In my travels this week, I determined there is one particular microcosm of an environment that is an especially good example of consistent inconsistencies, to which we need to be best prepared for the experience: public restrooms.

When stepping into a public potty, we can be guaranteed that:

They will smell. In unappealing ways.

There will be at least one toilet in a stall that is not flushed and/or is plugged.

There will be at least one stall that will have run out of toilet paper.

The auto-flush toilet will flush at an inopportune time.

At least one of the auto faucets at the sinks will not be working, causing us to wave our hands around like some sort of bad magician, while the auto soap dispenser gets confused and keeps squirting out soap all over the sink.

The hand air-dryer will either be too weak to do it’s job thus causing us to shake our hands or wipe them on our pants, or so strong it is deafeningly loud and threatens to remove skin, OR the nearby paper towel dispenser is empty, thus causing that odd two-step of holding our bags under our arms or between our knees, holding our dripping hands out in front as we shuffle to retrieve a towel at the farthest location in the room.

And of course, let us not forget the most common factor: there will be a line. The awkwardness of the women’s restroom line is not unlike riding in elevators – we must decide whether to avert our eyes, do a nod-and-smile form of greeting, or strike up a friendly conversation – all while casually trying to peek under doors to find available stalls and hoping to get one that does not have a plugged toilet or lack of paper.

The joy of travel is that at some point we return home, to our own private, familiar environs where we feel a bit more in control and can manage expectations. Well, maybe not really in control, but at least we will have our favorite non-lumpy pillows, maintain the cleanliness of our own surroundings, refill the toilet paper roll and flush when appropriate.

That’s right, Dorothy. There’s no place like home.

 

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Blinkin’ Power

jeannie-and-meA few years ago, The Marist Poll asked Americans what super power they would most like to have. More than a quarter would like to have the ability to read people’s minds, while the same number of folks wanted to be able to do time travel. Other top picks were the ability to fly or be invisible. Apparently more men wanted to time travel while women were the ones who most wanted to read minds.

I can’t say as I particularly want any of those superpowers. I certainly don’t want to read minds, because – yikes – I am weary enough listening to my own thoughts all day. Time travel I suppose could be cool, I have occassionally thought going back in time could be fascinating as long as I knew I could get safely back to the current again. But being able to fly or be invisible? Nah.

My superpower wish dates back to when I was a young girl, and in some ways is more simple. One of my favorite TV Shows was I Dream of Jeannie. I rather desperately wanted to be able to blink and make things happen. So much so, that I would roam around the house practicing this craft – sadly to no avail. Even at a young age, I could see the convenience of this power, and to this day, it is on the top of my list of Cool Things I Wish I Could Do.

Like all super powers, it would be important to not abuse the priviledge. I promise, I wouldn’t. Well, after of course blinking enough money into my bank account to pay off all debts and never have to worry about paying bills again, and after blinking all my loved ones to good health, and lastly blinking about 10 pounds off my body, well, THEN I’d only use this power for simple good things, and I wouldn’t ask for too much. I know better than to try to solve all the world’s problems. Even Jeannie couldn’t do that in her day.

Instead, I would use my mystical nods for those times when I just need a helping hand – err, blink. When I’m running late in the morning, one eye squint could get me dressed and out the door. Too weary to tackle a sink full of dishes? Boing, done. Paying the bills and balancing the checkbook? Piece of cake without even thinking about it. Cooking dinner when I get home late and am tired, putting away laundry, popping over to visit a friend… all worthy moments for the power blink. Just think how handy this could be. In a hurry to get ready to go out? No more dealing with impatient men waiting for us, because we’d be fasther than them. Bad hair day? Blink. Gorgeous. Broken heel on your favorite shoes as you are headed out the door? Bing, fixed. Lunch stain on your blouse? Ta da, gone. Every time-consuming chore we hate could be accomplished quickly and effortlessly.

I thought of Jeannie again this evening. I had planned to go to the gym for a workout, but ended up deciding to skip it. Why? Well, it was snowing. But my decision was not based on road conditions (which weren’t too bad yet), distance (the gym is literally across the road from my work), nor even because I was low on energy. It was because I had to brush my car off. Go ahead, call me a spoiled brat, but that is one of the winter chores I hate the most… leaving work when it is cold, dark, and windy out, and having to wield the snow brush. After taking several minutes to get my car cleared, I knew that if I spent an hour or so in the gym, I would have to brush the car off all over again. And I just didn’t have it in me. Instead, I headed home and opted for a home-basement workout, which is substantially more boring, uninspiring and devoid of all motivation. So just think if I had my favorite super power. My car would have been cleared off in a second, both times, and I would have been much more enthusiastic about hitting the gym. In other words, having the FOTB (Force Of The Blink) would actually be healthy for me.

I’m willing to bet that in most cases, when given the opportunity, the majority of Real Women would give up the chance to run faster than the speed of light, or be able to lift a volkswagen, or be undetectable – all in favor of a way to make life just a bit easier. To be able to cut corners and save energy. To take just a few things off our plates.

Sure, SuperMan could leap over a building in a single bound. But Samantha Stevens could clean her house with a twitch of her nose. Which would you rather be able to do?

 

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