I've invited myself along to my girlfriends' regular mani-pedi dates recently, and so far, they haven't seemed to mind much. It has been much more fun going with a group than going alone, as I had been doing. One of them almost always gets black polish on her nails, and she made a "black like my soul" joke about it. I gave myself the opposite of that today, painting several coats of silvery white glitter over a pure titanium white base. I'm staring at it, watching it reflect, and all I can think is "light and sparkly, like my soul." At some point in my younger years, maybe I could have carried off the dark, brooding persona, but now, it's possible that I'm just here to offer comic relief. Oddly, I'm totally okay with that. In our twenties, a friend and I embraced the concept of "bimbo," turning it from an epithet to an empowerment. It was liberating, being able to throw off the stodgy limitations of needing to be dignified in order to be taken seriously. I decided that if people weren't willing to take enough time to talk to me and find out that I actually do have a brain, then I wasn't going to waste time convincing them otherwise. I enjoy living in the silly bimbo world when it suits me, laughing at inappropriate times, making tasteless or self-effacing jokes, admitting freely when I really don't know something (rather than stoically pretending I know everything), and generally living in the moment. I've used it to diffuse tensions at the office, to get assistance from otherwise grumpy and unhelpful people, and as a protective shield when I needed to do things that normally would have intimidated me into silence. It's great for shaking off the fear of public speaking, for example.
If living such an open and vulnerable life leaves me susceptible to sudden emotional shifts, then I'm willing to take that risk. It usually gets me when I feel like an interloper, when I am someplace I don't think I am wanted. Like a vampire, I require a clear-cut invitation before I attend most gatherings. But if the alternative is shutting down my emotions, not being sensitive to those around me, not being warm and giving to people I encounter, then bring on the pain. I do much better when I am the unserious nice guy.
I always said that the guy I married was a big softie like I am. He's a road angel, a rescuer of damsels in distress, and the best friend of small, helpless animals. You don't end up with a house overflowing with cats and dogs, and a wild animal-friendly Park like this without a partner in crime. Between us, we've done a lot for birds, squirrels, turtles, bees, snakes, and lizards. We experience pain keenly when we aren't able to save animals who have been hit by cars, attacked by larger predators, or abandoned from their nests. For every success, like the fledgling blue jay we fostered for weeks in our house until he was big enough to fly away outside, there is a failure, like the rabbit who died on my deck yesterday. Until I moved here, I had never really handled dead animals in their original packaging (cooking with meat doesn't count). Since I got the Park, I've had to carry off a dead squirrel, bird, kitten, rabbit, and multiple lizards. And at his far distant job location, my man has had to deal with the sudden loss of two litters of kittens. It really was no surprise when he wrote to me, telling me that he had rescued a dog. The extent he is going through to help this particular dog, now that is a new one (but still no surprise). He and some colleagues were doing a little sight-seeing, when my man noticed what he thought was a marmot disappearing behind some rocks on the side of the road. It was rainy, so he couldn't get a clear view of it. One of his passengers realized it was a dog, and they pulled over to get a better look at it. It was dragging its back end, so my man took it to a vet, and discovered it had three slipped vertebrae, leaving it unable to use its hind legs. Softie that he is, rather than euthanizing the dog (as you know many people would have done), this man purchased a doggie-wheelchair for him, and is now in the process of finding someone to adopt him. The wheels arrived yesterday, and the confused pup is not sure about the whole process. Apparently he took off "running" with them, tripped, had a little face-plant, and is now a lot more cautious with his new wheels. Now, I want you to let this sink in a little bit. My man is such a friend to animals that he bought a wheelchair for a dog he is giving away. And I didn't ask how much, or try to talk him out of it. If that doesn't make us nice guys, it makes us suckers. Either way, I don't care. I like it this way.
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