My Thoughts on Baby Showers

You have GOT to be KIDDING.

It's not every day that I get people complaining about my appearance at work.

Oh, it's happened before. Torn jeans are insulting to some mothers, ripped t-shirts to others. It's not the first time my appearance has fallen under fire because of customers, and it probably won't be the last.

It is, however, the first time that my eyes have come under fire.

No.

You didn't misread that. It was not a typo.

A man actually sent a lengthy e-mail complaining about my eyes.

As I understand it, after having read the e-mail myself, my customer found it "really difficult to make eye contact" with me because the "intensity of the artificial color." He continued to suggest that "employees be limited to natural colors of artificial lenses" to make the customers more comfortable. 

But my favorite line was when he said it was "creepy talking to someone with the same lifeless eyes as my daughter's dolls."

Now, I got a call from the top of the food chain for this e-mail because, by the customer's description, I must have been wearing some really outlandish, completely creepy contacts. The way the man was carrying on, I had worn something seriously inappropriate.

I think from the e-mail the owner imagined something like this:

                                                          

Or this...

Um...the eyebrows are bit creepy, too...

                                                      

Or maybe this: 

                                                         

But that wasn't what the customer saw. The customer saw this:

My straight up, natural, never been truer that true, green eyes.

So I wore a couple of shades of green today and it made the color a little more intense. That's just the way my eyes look, and it's no more inappropriate than me wearing my hair to work. And how the hell do you defend your eye color to your boss? 

Let me tell you, there's no way to say the customer is an idiot politely.

Frankly, I was too surprised to sugar coat it.

"Somebody what? What a stupid idiot! I'm not wearing artificial colors in my contacts! They're clear! No, I swear! My eyes are the same eyes today as they were yesterday!"

And then he laughed and asked if I was wearing the green jacket from inventory, and I said yes, and he said he thought my eyes looked really weird in that jacket, too, and he'd thought I was wearing contacts, but when he'd mentioned it to my coworkers they set him straight.

Because we've been over this. My eyes change color with my outfit, with my mood, with the seasons. 

I'm mostly annoyed that he'd said lifeless. 

My eyes are many things. Beautiful, unusual, vibrant, expressive.

But they are never, under any circumstances, lifeless.

The reply he received was that I was wearing my real eyes and that we'd love to help him feel more comfortable. I think it was even offered to have him work with a different sales person if it was impossible to talk to me, but that there was no way they could ask me to stop wearing my eyes to work because...I kind of need them to see.

I can't wait to hear how he answers...

Look, I'm not asking for much here, just to buy a huge, maybe a little feminine bed that could fit six people in it comfortably...

Where, oh where, have my words run off to these days? 

I feel like I'm never around anymore, and it's true. I come home tired, cranky, and frustrated. I eat and walk Choo Choo, and I lay down on the couch with Padawan until he carries me off to be because, quite frankly, I don't have the energy to get up again once I'm down.

For all that my face is apparently aging gracefully, my body seems to be aging in double time. Sore, tired...

And you know what it is, right?

It's our stupid bed.

It's too small for two people. We need a king sized bed, or at least a queen. A full sized bed for two people is ridiculous. Especially when you factor in that my dog, my delightful little Choo Choo, stretches herself out to the fullest across the bed, taking up as much space as I do laying on my back. And being a spoiled, selfish little creature, she had no problem kicking me when she's stretching out to ensure that she gets enough space. And sticking her feet under me, claws and all, when her little paws are cold.

I pointed out to Padawan that we need a bigger bed.

He claims that we can't have a bigger bed.

And men are supposed to be better at spacial reasoning. Ha!

The real reason is that the mattress we have (which was his before it was ours, because when we used my mattress he said it was too soft and of course his is way too firm) is one that he bought and he only had it for a year before I moved in so it's still pretty new (to him, anyway, my mattress was only mine for six months before it got shoved into storage) and he thinks it would be a waste of money to buy a new set of mattresses.

Really. 

He thinks I don't understand that, but I do. Does he think I really don't notice how he insists on squeezing the very last, tiny bit of toothpaste out of the mangled tube before he breaks down, throws it out, and buys a new one? He doesn't like wasting things. (This is sadly how we wind up with all that food in our refrigerator. He can't stand the idea of throwing it away, he puts it in the fridge, and it promptly gets forgotten about until a week later when we toss it because we both know that, no  matter what, once it goes into the refrigerator, it's not coming back out until it's not edible.) Then again, this is the same man who doesn't care about things going where they belong so long as they aren't sitting out where he can see them. Forks...smoke detectors...chopsticks...battery charger...all of it winds up in my purse if left out. Even when he's the one who left it out.

It's funny how he does things like that.

Anyway, is it too much to ask for a big bed?

I mean, my sleep is important. If I don't sleep well I'm cranky. And then I'm not hungry, and he hates it when I don't eat. And then I'm tired and I have no energy, which means I'm hardly amorous...and then you wind up with this awful situation in which I'm only feeling amorous a few times a week, and really how is that fair to anybody? 

Sorry, I realize that you guys just got an up close and personal look into my...well, personal life. But seriously? 

If a bigger bed is all it takes...why doesn't he just agree and say, "Yes, Chanel. Buy a bigger bed if that's what makes you happy." I mean...it's mutually beneficial if he agrees, so where's the down side? So what if I want to buy a huge four poster bed with pretty curtains? It's not girly if the curtains are blue....

Right?

You have no idea how much has been going on...

Inventory is finished, thank you very freaking much. I've been working on prepping for it since October, and I've been having nightmares about it since December, and then after a fifteen hour day...it's done. Or mostly done. So we have a hallway filled with things that we couldn't inventory because they didn't exist because they were odds and ends that aren't in the catalogs anymore and that aren't actually out because they're not really popular...so we'll still be working through it. But in a month, things should be all smooth sailing. Yay! Except that I did nearly snap at Efficiency for accusing me of making a customer uncomfortable because he heard me tell someone I'd cried because I hurt my finger. 

Okay, if someone is seriously made uncomfortable because I said, "Oh, this? I grabbed a wall hook this morning and a piece of metal stabbed me and broke off under my skin. I was crying for ten minutes before Jay Jay finally managed to pull it out," then they shouldn't go out in public. Ever. 

Since I highly doubt I made anyone uncomfortable, her comment, "Chanel, you really need to be careful about personal conversations. When you said you cried you made the poor man behind you uncomfortable," was unnecessary. And excuse me for saying so, but if THAT kind of conversation is inappropriate, then most of my conversations with my coworkers during long contracts and financing are inappropriate because in those I discuss my age, how long I've been playing, if I'm married, what bands I play in or with, and whether or not I act in movies. Highly improper because according to her I should only ever talk about what we sell. 

Ridiculously stupid. 

In other news...  Relly got engaged on Friday night (or in the wee hours of Saturday morning if you want to be technical.)  I received a text message to inform me of this most auspicious moment in our family history.

A text message.

Highly impersonal.  If I get engaged (which may or may not happen in the near or distant future to a man who may or may not be Padawan because I'm young and in love in Austin where things don't have to rush, rush, rush)  I think I will have a little more class and consideration than to simply send out a mass text on my phone to every single person in it telling them all the good news.

Hello.

I'm female. Call me and scream in my ear. I don't care what time you do it. I don't want to read it in a text message. 

Great balls of fire, the world has gotten so lazy. 

And my cousin's wedding is fast approaching. Apparently my bridesmaid's dress is blue with straps (thank goodness: I don't do strapless) and just above the knee or something. This whole bridesmaid thing makes me a little nervous, but then again...what could I possibly do to embarrass myself?

I mean, I nearly fell off the stage at my own high school graduation. Surely that's enough humiliation for a lifetime for one individual, right? It's on camera, and the family gets to relive the moment over and over again as often as they like.

Horrid thing, those video cameras. They should be illegal. 

I suppose I'll be a bridesmaid in Relly's wedding, too, if they should ever get around to setting a date. Another chance to make a fool of myself. 

Oh, and I'm going to a baby shower on the 26th, Loki help me. How I, of all people, got myself on the guest list to a baby shower when I hate really don't like children is beyond me. But there it was in the mail the other day, with a family picture of my very pregnant coworker and her husband and toddler.

But I do have to say, I've met her boy. Bright little thing. Knows a cello from a violin, and most adults can't even boast that knowledge. And he asks before he touches things, which is astounding for a three year old. Perhaps he's smarter than the average bear. In any case, he's rather sweet.

But not for me, thanks. No children.

Padawan has put his foot down: Jazz will be my date, but he will not go to a baby shower. Too girly.

And since I'm going to this thing more out of politeness than interest, you guys must tell me: what do you think of me giving her a box of condoms as a gift?