Monday, January 7, 2008

With These Ice Packs Removed

I'm a busy girl. I have big city jobs to go to, big city jobs to apply for, blogs to write, French fries to eat, films to articulate, and trains to catch. I am not exactly running after men--I am not trying to bag a boy, net a husband, or tackle a suitor. At a comment through a family e-mail--made by a non-family member--that someone, somewhere, anywhere, was, I responded, at large:
It's not like I have sneakers strapped to my feet so I can chase down a man. UGH.
I mean, puhhhleease, homegirl has things to do! And The King, recognizing this, set out December 19, 2007, the night the e-mail was sent, to find me a pair of sneakers for Christmas.
...Because the Quimby's celebrate a woman's singlehood, mmmhmm.
The King is not one to settle. No, he showed refined taste as Winifred suggested various options, which were too bland, not red, not bright, not Captain, unable to balance on a skateboard, too flimsy, incapable of allowing flight, etc. A pair surfaced, not red, but sturdy and most decidedly Captain in its prominent use of plaid (and its name "BEAR KITTY") wad especially fitting.
The streets in the city grew wet the following weeks, and running after a train and a bus through puddles and over hills, slogging through damp detritus, and parading around a sullen town seemed inappropriate for the inaugural outing of shoes that were purchased for that very use.
So they lived under my desk until yesterday, when suddenly everything went seemingly right.
First, the sky opened to reveal a bright blue sky. It beckoned 60 degree weather and a number of spontaneous adventures with Biscuit when my work was unexpectedly finished in little more than an hour: lunch at the Ikea milk bar (we wanted to be more European), an odyssey of Consumer joy through clearance minimalist mass produced products, a secret ninja mission within the blue and yellow walls, unrestrained fantasies of our adult lives beyond college (real jobs, benefits, motor vehicles, painted interiors, unabashed freedom, albeit more bills), a film screening, etc. The earthly joys of 20 somethings. But the air was filled with the promise of good things, and I knew it was either the shoes, still squishy in newness, or, it was The Cake.

We celebrate Three King's Day in Winifred's C + E Catholicism, the results of which yielded a batch of carrot cupcakes and fluffy cream cheese icing. Inside Winifred baked a small, round blue stone, which I received in my cake, theoretically promising a year of good luck. ("A Red Letter Year," I sleepily mumbled on the return trip to Baltimore.) Offline I am not a believe in superstition was either the cake or the shoes. I thought I'd see what happened when I wore other shoes in the printmaking studio.
You know where this is going from the subject, don't you? Everything went horribly awry. Far past so-bad-it's-funny-years-from-now. I'll be bitter when I'm 82 about January 8, 2008. Long after everything went wrong, I accidentally sent my fingers through a printmaking press. They didn't break, but my spirit did, and I bounced from grumpy to near-yarking/sobbing through the rest of the day.
Winifred made me promise to slowly back away from the keyboard, find a couch or bed and TV remote, and reconnect with an ice pack. I did, and later, I reconnected with Chipotle's burritos with carnitas sour cream, rice, corn, and salsa. She also said to wear The Shoes.
Later, to show her camaraderie, Winifred dropped a steak knife, slicing a sizable gash in her foot. The King bandaged her, and I hope, dried her tears. He used Band-Aid brand big band aids, not that sticky stuff from Target that gives me hives, and is probably looking into steel enforced house slippers.
Tomorrow I'm wearing The Shoes to class; if disaster befalls, I'll probably have to wait for another six years before I get another Red Letter Day; either way I'm owed a crown for my Epiphany win, Winifred. That's what Wikipedia says. In return I'll host Candelaria Day next month and serve whiskey. Unless you were dying for Atole?

(Thankfully I already started to type this post last night. Instead of nothing you get a 2-for-1 special!)

1 comment:

ALF said...

eating french fries is totally important.