September 2017

Life has been so sad lately, I need a laugh break.  If you could benefit from one as well, I invite you to read on.

One of my favorite qualities in a person is the ability to laugh at oneself.  Life is more doable when taken lightly.

I’ve had so many embarrassing moments in my life that I sometimes wonder if I accidently picked up an extra serving, meant for another.   I’m usually the first one to rat myself out, and haven’t decided if this is a good quality or not.  I’ve been in conversations before, halfway through my story, only to realize the person hearing it has a look of horror on their face.

Whoops.

Retreat and wrap it up. I apparently got lost on my way to the sharing circle. Embarrassing stories are to be saved for back porch nights with the inner circle.  When someone shares an embarrassing moment with me, it seals the deal of my love for them. I don’t mean a “Oh my, I burped out loud – clutch my pearls” story, let’s dive in deep my friend.  Dish it out in a safe place.  Shame cannot survive being spoken.

I’d love to share one with you now, it’s actually my favorite.one.ever.  Only it isn’t mine, but I tell it with FULL permission rights.  This gracious friend was brave enough to offer the use of her real name.  Probably due to the fact of threatening her for years that this story is going in a future book.  I’m sharing it here because it deserves a shrine, and I don’t feel that she tells it with as much gusto as it deserves.  She skips some important moments, and this story has earned a space of its own.

Pull up a chair my friend, join me on this back porch.  Chances are, if you have spent any time with me at ALL, you know what story I’m about to tell.   I can’t image any men who would read my blog, but if you are lost and ended up here, feel free to sit this one out.

I was a fresh eighteen years old, and walked into my first day on the job at Bourland Dry Cleaners in Willow Park, Texas.  It was a drop off/pick up location, so the only other employee was the gal training me.  She was a year older and less than thrilled to welcome me.  With her 5-inch-long, dark brown nails, she taught me how to tag and bag clothes. In future days, she taught me how to smoke skinny cigarettes and drink.  We saved our money and chipped in for a mini fridge for the store, to ensure that her beer and my wine coolers stayed cold.  In the distant, more settled days, she taught me how to cook, take care of a baby, and be a homemaker.  You can see where I simply had to have her in my friend barn.

Our job didn’t require matching attire. We just felt the need to go above and beyond. Bless.

Vanessa was in cosmetology school in the mornings, and worked at the cleaners in the afternoons.  Due to many-a-late nights, she missed a lot of school.  Like most of it.  Luckily for the majority of population, she didn’t make a career out of doing hair.  The person in charge of the school finally cracked down and told her that she wouldn’t complete the course if she missed one more day.

With two weeks of school left, Vanessa told me that afternoon that she couldn’t go out after work until the semester was over.  Secretly, I was thankful.  I had gone from living on the shoulder of the life’s highway – straight to the fast lane, and welcomed a rest.  The very next morning, Vanessa woke up rested with full nights sleep, only sick as a dog.  A virus had hit her full force.  Fully recommitted to the trade of making ladies beautiful, she got dressed and headed to class.

The accident occurred on the backroads.  Please don’t be alarmed, this was no car accident, more of a virus-natured one.  I should mention that this was 1997, so clearly, she was dressed in a plaid mini skirt, tights, and loafers.  Who wasn’t after Clueless hit the big screen?   Vanessa had a decision to make – go home and change, or press on. The decision was simple, she was no beauty school dropout.

Always a survivor, she remembered that Koryn, a friend from high school, lived just up ahead.  Koryn had a large family and a welcoming house, everyone was always coming and going.  Desperate, Vanessa pulled in the driveway and ran into the house at 7:30 am. She made a beeline for the restroom to use the facilities and clean herself up.  She went to the extreme of washing her unmentionables in the sink and even blow-drying them, cutting no corners on a quick sanitation job.

When the twenty minute clean-up mission was complete, she walked to Koryn’s room to explain that she needed to avoid using the wash cloth on the side of the tub.  Upon entering her friend’s room, she found a strange man lying in Koryn’s bed.  Realizing she didn’t have time to find a family member, Vanessa figured it best to contact them after school.  She had some hair to color and cut, perhaps even perm.

A few months passed and poor Koryn never received that warning call.  One night, while out in Fort Worth, we ran into Vanessa’s high school friend.  Nessa immediately and apologetically started relaying the story to her.  Koryn listened in horror, her face scrunching up in disgust and disbelief.  I felt so sorry for the poor girl, and replied by making faces of sympathy back at her.  I was silently hoping she hadn’t used that washcloth to cleanse her face.  When my dear friend got done with her story of admission, Koryn replied with, “Vanessa, we haven’t lived there in like a year.”

Howling would be the best description of my laughter.  For once, Vanessa was stunned into silence.

Here is where I could be cheesy, and insert a classic lesson in this story.  One like, “Always know what road you are on” or “Be present on your journey”, or an obvious one, “Know whose bathroom you are in”, or for the homeowner, “Know who is in your bathroom”.   But, wouldn’t you agree, this story needs nothing.

There isn’t a lesson to be learned, other than be sure to find laughter on this journey of life.

Give yourself permission to lighten up and laugh.  Life will take care of handing us the heavy stuff from time to time.  Most importantly, surround yourself with the funniest of friends.

My dear Vanessa, who Hubs has nicknamed Trouble #1

*To wrap this story up in a nice little bow, years later Vanessa found out who the new homeowners were.  Three single, handsome guys in their twenties.  As luck would have it, we ran into one of them a decade later, and I got to witness Vanessa telling him the story.  The best part was watching his brain scan his past calendars to see if he was the one home from work that day. Greatness.

**Disclaimer – By request, no names were changed for protection in this story. We could all learn from her transparency. For all you other friends, your stories are still safe with me.  In the vault, unless you give me written permission to take them out.

Laughing…even in Vermont