#just be yourself

            I gave this piece the working title, “Frightening Lovely Women.” In this case, frightening is not an adjective, it’s a verb. I have found I have a talent for frightening the bejeebies out of the loveliest people just by opening my mouth. I am a walking case example of why some people should shun the age old advice to “just be yourself.”

            I attended an all woman cook-out given by a group of publishers recently. These are smart women who pay attention to environmental issues and social politics, feed organic food to their dogs, believe firmly in aromatherapy, attempt reason with toddlers, and each of them was adept at playing at least one ancient musical instrument when depressed. 

            I sat next to a lovely young woman with blonde locks bound up in a rag festooned with hand sewn sequins. I knew they were hand sewn because I could see big knots in the mismatched thread that hung out like Grand Daddy Long Legs all around her head. It was so Nefertiti, I loved it. A conversation was going on about unfair trade practices in Tashkent, Uzbekistan (see, I told you they knew their politics). The pretty woman with the locks said the local bureaucrats were cheating a woman’s furniture co-operative with some kind of tariff stuff and blah blah. Honestly, I get lost at the mention of any word that includes “operative” in it. But whatever the issue, it had these smarter-than-me-any-day women hopping mad and twisting their hemp rope beads.

            “So, what’s your take on the legal strategy they should use?” She was talking to me.

            With a piece of useless rhetoric, I bought myself a few seconds to think up a real answer. “I think the blatant unfairness here should definitely be addressed.” I pretended to ponder the question seriously, and then I had it. “These men should get the Invicta treatment.”

            “The what?” asked the blonde.

            I had an audience now, so I put my hands in a V the way they show you in business school. “The female Brazilian phorid fly injects an egg into the S. invicta, better known as the fire ant. The egg hatches, and the maggot burrows inside the ant’s head, eats its brain, and the head falls off.”

            You could have heard an organic carrot stick drop. The blonde woman had gone so limp the drink in her hand threatened to spill. I excused myself and left to find someone in polyester, a textile I could relate to.

            A woman with a name tag on that read “Maxine” in big letters was leaning against the food table. She wore a pantsuit and a neat little helmeted hairstyle, and the best part was she had a little bit of spinach dip on her chin. Maxine wrote parenting articles for Christian magazines – and she was a Baptist. It was as if my words came out so fast my brain did not have a chance to catch them, and the regret began even before I finished speaking because what I said isn’t even true. “When my kids act up I just shut them in a big closet and tell them Satan is hiding in there with them.”

            Maxine turned white and put a hand on my arm. “You really shouldn’t say things like that to kids. It’s damaging.”

            The truth is I say things like, “Your face is going to freeze that way,” or “If you eat that candy from the floor you’ll grow up to be sterile.”  But I have never threatened my children with the Prince of Darkness or any of his minions from hell. It wouldn’t scare them anyway. They listen to punk rock.

            But Maxine wasn’t buying it, so I headed for my car and left before she had a chance to get the Department of Children and Family Services on her cell phone.

            I’m thinking that for my next party I’ll create flash cards of acceptable responses.  I’ll say only things like, “Why yes, I love cats.  They’re nature’s therapy cushions.”  “Swiss chard is my favorite snack, too.”  “Mending my children’s socks fulfills me as a maternal caregiver.”  And maybe I’ll send a donation to those women in Uzbekistan.  Better yet, I’ll buy their logo t-shirt, wear it to my next party, and I won’t have to say anything.