It has been a bad couple of weeks. Not necessarily because of the weather or the holidays or the T-word, though looking back maybe all of it did add to the mounting pressure, but even without all of that I still think it would have been bad because if I'm honest, this badness has been building for about three years.
I erupted. And by erupted I mean I pretty much couldn’t stop crying.
Now randomly breaking into tears is never optimal. However, there are ways to mask it: Sunglasses, a cold, allergies, the wind, something stuck in my contact lens, “you know how some people have chronic dry-eye? Well, I have hyperactive tear ducts. Yes it is a real thing, and it sucks, so fuck off.”
Of course, none of these excuses work when you are among friends. Especially when you are among friends who had never seen you cry and always just assumed you weren’t kidding when you joked you had your tear-ducts removed like all Russian children.
This is probably why I wasn’t looking forward to the Duchess’s holiday party. Also, I have been eating my emotions, so nothing fits me right now, but mostly it was about the crying thing.
Because I couldn’t stop crying and had no way of knowing what would trigger it and it is rude to wear sunglasses at a house party and everyone I was going to see was going to ask innocuously me how I was doing and they would not be ready for me to respond with tears.
Still, I had to go. Not just because the Duchess would be pissed (and believe me, you do not want to piss off the Duchess) but because my alternative Saturday plans were to eat and watch reruns of Law & Order and in the long run, I knew that was a lot less healthy.
So I put on comfy but stylish pants that were not the offensive yoga pants* everyone is decrying today and a face and drove out to Duchess’s palace.
I realized as I approached the party, heavy eye-liner and mascara were probably a bad idea but it was too late as I entered the house and the Duchess shrieked at my arrival (I was a touch late).
In the background, I could hear another, high-pitched shriek of delight. A three-year-old shriek. Bestie had brought Baby Bestie. As I turned the corner, Bestie said, “She has been asking when you were getting here all night.” (Alright, I was an hour and a half late.)
I sat down next to Baby Bestie, and she immediately started using me like a piece of playground equipment. Bestie brought me a glass of wine, and Baby Bestie and I played and laughed as friends stopped by to ask Baby Bestie if she was happy to see me.
As she crawled back into my lap after selecting some candy, and I grabbed both of her hands so I could bounce and swing her around without losing her, she asked me, “Sarah**, Are you a grown-up, yet?”
I didn’t have an honest answer for her, but I do think I have a title for my first collection of short stories.
I also didn’t cry when she asked.
Sometimes life gives you exactly what you need exactly when you need it.
*I do not find yoga pants offensive. At all. If you follow me on Twitter, you know I wear them to work sometimes. I think people who are offended by yoga pants are offensive and are officially uninvited to any party I ever throw.
**Baby Bestie has an adorable three-year-old lisp, so she says my name: Sae-wah.