SuperWoman Gets People to Do Things

It had been a long week, as most weeks are. A week of days sitting at a cubicle, finding excuses to stand up and drink tea. Days spending lunch breaks trying to exercise and deal with frizzy hair after coming in from the gym’s shower. Nights cooking eggs or spaghetti and meatballs for her progeny, which she always has to fight them to eat, even though they kind of like those things. And then, to top it all off, SuperWoman was having a new bed delivered for TalkMonster and needed to get off her ass to take apart the old one. The old one was a monster, one of those too-high loft thingies that seemed great in theory until her child had to climb up and practically kiss all the cracks in the ceiling while sleeping. He didn’t like it. The new bed would be low to the ground, civilized.

Except. Here’s the thing. SuperWoman wouldn’t know her way around a drill if it was laced with buttercream icing. She wouldn’t know it if it were hot pink and glittery. You should have seen her trying to put curtain rods in two years ago. Sometimes—and by this she means sometimes—she can use a screw driver, but don’t hold your breath. So she pretty much tries to avoid any incidence of putting things together or taking them apart. She pays people in cash or beer. (She avoids housework, too, though laundry and dishes and emptying the litter box kind of have to be done. Just don’t look at her bathroom floor. And thank God she doesn’t have a lawn to worry about.)

However, SuperWoman does have ingenuity. So what did she do?

She bought cheese, hummus, tomato crackers, and sparkling rose, and she asked her friends, Susa-Power and Davie-oh-oh-oh to come over and take down the bed for her.

She did not phrase it this way, of course. The request to Susa-Power and Davie-oh-oh-oh went like this: “Would you help me? I’ll buy you food.” And then she just got lucky when they pretty much did the whole thing.

First, there was divine cheese. A nice sharp cheddar, a triple cream brie, some Italian brick soaked in Syrah which was very good. There were pink bubbles in champagne glasses. And then SuperWoman led her friends to TalkMonster’s room to begin disassembling the monster metal bed like pros from HGTV. Susa-Power assessed the situation and said they needed a special kind of screw driver or none of this was going to work. SuperWoman almost despaired, because all she had was a trusty twenty-dollar basic tool bag from Lowe’s. But she found the L-shaped metal bar—several, in fact! where did they come from?—and they all went to work.

Well, all is not quite honest. SuperWoman’s progeny WonderMess and BeautyQueen called to Facetime while the event was going on, and SuperWoman ended up just watching these  svelte creatures pull apart the bed before her very eyes.

It was a beautiful thing. Not only the disassembling action, but the people, straight out of Trading Spaces or some show like that.

And now, days later, the happy ending. TalkMonster has his new bed, one that’s low on the floor. He has organized the bedroom so that it looks monkish, with nothing on the floor and all his clothes neatly put away, which will probably last for the whole 8 hours that he sleeps, until he starts frantically opening drawers when he tries to find something to wear for school in the morning.

And SuperWoman? SuperWoman feels blessed to know she has such good friends, and that they expect so little of her, and she will surely try the wine and cheese trick next time challenges arise.

Do villains eat cheese? She hopes so.

 

Image: “Princess Bed” by THOR via Flickr Creative Commons

SuperWoman Feels Old

Now that SuperWoman is the ripe old age of 39, she’s been noticing some things about what it feels like to have a body that grows older, even at the same time as the inside of her feels young and lithe.

(Yes, she just used the word lithe. Ha.)

What’s SuperWoman’s age, on the inside? It’s like, 20, or something. (Or maybe she should make that 21, so that her inner self can still partake of wine.) Maybe it’s even 15–innocent and wide-eyed–as long as she doesn’t have to go back to high school again.

Still, on the outside there are these changes. Waking up in the morning, for one. Remember when SuperWoman made a vow that she was going to get up early and do yoga for 30 days? She failed miserably, which is why she didn’t talk about it afterward. She got up for two days in a row, and then she was back to the old routine, hitting snooze until the last possible minute, popping up and deciding whether a shower was really necessary before work. This reduction of energy, she assumes, is due to age.

And there are some other things she attributes to her aging body. The gray hairs on her head grow in faster, giving her hair this delightful yet muddied multi-colored tone. (She had once thought she’d go all gray in her 60s, but now she thinks that could happen much sooner.) There’s the ache in her thighs from walking up too many stairs. Her slower stride. The fact that her hair sticks up when she wakes up in the morning, and that she is content to look like a hobo with mismatching sweaters and wide-leg pants and socks on a Sunday morning while children play video games and she sits at her computer, sipping coffee. (Perhaps all she needs is a good pair of pajamas?) Also, even more disturbing, is that an extra pumpkin muffin or slice of pizza stays around her middle and makes her pants tight, and she has to eat next to nothing to remove those food items from production in her metabolism. She falls asleep at 8:30 pm while watching a teeny-bopper movie and gets yelled at by her son who wants her to stop sleeping. She can’t help it. It’s like a fog comes over her, like the air is filled with Benadryl.

But with age is wisdom, right? So as her body changes and deteriorates and starts to decay, the inverse—apparently—happens with her inner self. SuperWoman grows more established and esteemed and knowledgeable about the world and the ways of women and men.

Fat chance. She’s still just as confused as ever. And poor. And without any special titles.

Nope. What happens on the inside, SuperWoman has learned as she gets older, is that she gets more humble. That ego of hers gets smaller and she keeps learning to roll with the punches. This is a good thing, all the spiritual teachers will say. Maybe wisdom and grace don’t come from knowing so much, but in realizing how much you don’t know.

That sounds deep, but she’d still like her hair to stop frizzing and her muscles to feel strong and her appetite to match what helps her fit into her pants. So in the meantime, what will she do?

Make-up. Hair dye. Elastic pants. Meals with good friends where they talk about all they don’t know, but the experiences that have made life interesting. And dancing in her living room with her kids, because despite all the other bodily changes, dancing always feels good.

 

Image: “Dancing” by Moody Fotografi via Flickr.