While it may not seem like it from the outside, there are definite benefits to being me. There are the obvious ones— preferred parking spaces, event seating in the front (should the venue be equipped for it), and being able to get away with first-degree murder because no one will believe that the perky girl in the wheelchair could possibly poison anyone with arsenic.
Aside from these obvious benefits, there are the not-so-obvious ones, too. Like my shoe budget. I rarely have to buy new shoes because each pair I buy will last a ridiculously long time. This is what happens when you don’t go walking around in your shoes. While Nancy Sinatra may have sung “These Boots Are Made For Walkin’,” she clearly wasn’t talking about me. My boots are made for sitting in my wheelchair while I do things like try not to stain them with dribbled spaghetti sauce. (This is a serious concern. My wardrobe is more susceptible to food-spillage than actual wear-and-tear.)
I’m not ashamed to admit that I still have two pairs of shoes from the 8th grade. I am not kidding. As I know that fashion is cyclical, I’m just biding my time until 90’s chunky heels are all the rage again. If acid-washed jeans can make a comeback, so will my Payless black leather loafers.
If you don’t believe me, I’ve taken this picture of my shoe closet. The average age of a pair of shoes in this closet is 9.7 years.
Anyway, being me is not all sunshine and rainbows. It can be challenging when you get an itch you can’t reach or drop something on the floor and you have to wait for someone to pick it up. Patience becomes a daily practice, an endeavor. It’s not an obscure or unknowable concept — like what the hell is really going on with Trump’s hair.
Yesterday, I had such a challenge. While I was on the phone with my aunt, I felt something weird on my neck. Thinking it was just my hair tickling me, I ignored it. A few minutes later, I felt it again. I looked in the mirror and I saw a spider crawling around on my clavicle… like it owned the place.
To say I freaked out would be an understatement. I hate bugs with a deeper passion than I feel for anything else on this Earth. And that is saying a lot because I really hate manbuns.
Nearly dropping the phone, I went to my dad and shrieked, “THEREISASPIDERONMYNECK! GETITOFFNOW!” With exasperated amusement, he flicked off the spider and it smashed on the knee of my pant leg— leaving a stain on the jeans that would be a reminder for the rest of the day of my traumatizing experience.
In his accented voice, my dad then scoffed, “Bah, eet was juust a leetle bug.“
This was a total lie to try to make me feel better. But, I was the one that had it crawling around on my neck like a fucking Land Rover on safari. In my mind’s eye, heavily colored by my assorted anxieties, the spider was NOT little. And it never, ever will be.
I guess being me isn’t all fun and games…
4 thoughts on “Shoes, Spiders and The Perks of Being Me”
I love your Dad! That beetle (uhumm spider) situation sounds horrifying 😳😩
My dear E, Still laughing. Although, I too am so not fond of any bugs and try not to think about them. Listen to how nuts I am, I fear being stuck in some old folks home and not being able to scratch an itch or my butt and what if a bug is bugging me??? You are such a hero in my eyes, dealing with honesty and humor. Cool shoe 👠 photo. I agree that those shoes will make a come back. Love you so Fran PS love the Million Dollar Boy, hooked me from first sentences.
I was laughing when I read this!!
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I always love the big stories, I can just see you wheeling to the kitchen so fast for Aita’s help. I’m still laughing.