That was awkward.

Do you ever crack yourself up by just realizing how totally ridiculous you are? I think it’s a gift; being able to laugh at yourself. I just wish I had the ability to see the humour as it happens, not after I’ve already swallowed a load of frustration and humiliation.

You see, I’ve been down with a flu for four days, enduring 102-degree fevers while watching castles of Kleenex build around my bed. I felt horrible, and I looked horrible. Today, however, I had to defy my body’s advice of staying in bed because I had a very important errand to run at the grocery store. If you’re a woman you’ll understand what could possibly be that important; it starts with “tam” and end with “pons.”

(Thankfully, I did not have any pictures from todays incidents. This will have to do.)

As I staggered my way into HyVee with hair so greasy I looked like I was trying to pull off the “wetlook” and wearing my less fashionable winter coat and uggs, I picked up a box of Ben & Jerry’s and a bag of potato chips on the way; just to add more weight to my already sloppy appearance, you know. And yes, I just realized that “add weight” has a dual meaning in this context.

After being discretely judged by the freshfaced cashier with a fancy updo, I withdrew 6o dollars that I put in my pocket.

As I exit the store, I choke so badly on the wind that I have to turn around just to breathe through my useless nostrils. Then, my baseball cap flies off and nearly gets run over by a truck, but my head was no longer in the cap at that point, so it could’ve been worse.

Relieved that I made it all the way back to my car, I suddenly see a 20-dollar bill glued onto my door. (At the time, I didn’t realize it wasn’t actually glued, but rather held in place by the extreme winds we’ve had in Sioux Falls this week) *Hey, lucky day! I found 20 bucks!*

Then, as I reach down into my pocket to introduce my newly adopted 20-dollar bill with my other 60, I’m mortified to discover that my pocket is empty, and that the bill I found on my car was the lone survivor of the 60 I had just withdrawn. The other 40 were taken by the hurricane.

*May you rest in peace* or, preferably, *may you be a great blessing to whomever finds you.*

Clever, Maria. Truly clever.


This situation instantly reminded of that time I had to check into a sketchy small-town-Minnesota-motel at 2 AM, wearing nothing but my pyjamas under that same unfashionable winter coat, and the receptionist repeatedly asked me if I was planning on staying alone the whole night, or if I was expecting any guests at any time during the night? He clearly thought I was a prostitute. Or a victim of domestic violence. Or just high. Or all of the above. Showing up in PJs with bloodshot eyes, and no luggage — at two in the morning — did perhaps not diminish those stereotypes.

Little did he know that I had just escaped from my friend Rachel’s apartment because of a SEVERE allergic reaction to her adorable cat. I didn’t want to wake the whole house, and with my rapidly constricting airways I simply could not stay long enough to pack my suitcase. I had to prioritize breathing.

After the receptionist’s interrogation I went to my skimpy room, laughing. Dear Minnesota, what an adventure.


My point with this is that you’ll have so much more fun once you stop caring about people’s perception of you. Wear those PJs, let your dollar bills fly in the wind and rock that wetlook in public.

Liberation, ladies. Liberation.

Photo: Naras Pramswari.

Blessings,
Maria

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