Six Saturday Morning Musings: From Happy Hour to BAE
Originally Posted: 2017
On the weekend, happy hour is any hour as long as there’s beer in the fridge.
I have realized in the last couple of years that I am definitely a sore loser. I hate losing, and I intensely dislike like when I’m not good at something. I think owning that will help me laugh about it more, rather than cursing and slamming my fists against walls. The walls always win that battle anyways, which doesn’t help my complex.
I still think about the twins sometimes. Almost every day.
For those of you who don’t know, they were two little girls in my daycare class two years ago. I was with them every weekday, and once in a while at night or on the weekends. They meant the world to me. They made me realize that one day I want to be a mother. And I didn’t know the last time I saw them would be the last time.
I was supposed to be their nanny. I had the contract in my hand. But when folks find out you’re a pagan, they may panic and pull the rug out from under you three days before your contract at your current job is up.
In the end, I learned a lot. It was a few short steps to rock bottom after that, and I went, tripping on my shoelaces all the way. You have to hit of the ground to find your footing and crawl back up to the world again.
But still I miss them. I know that they weren’t family, they weren’t mine.
And yet, I love them will all my heart.
And they meant the world to me.
And I wonder how they’re doing, and what their first words were. If Lola still loves bubbles and if Stella still makes faces at her food. If they’ll remember me as just some lady who once taught them how to smell flowers, or if they’ll remember me at all.
If they’ll be allowed to grow into the amazing women they can be.
I have spent most of the day in bed and I have zero regrets about it. Sometimes the body wants to be lazy, and who am I to deny it such a request when I’m trying so hard to be friends with it.
I have these words inside my mouth. They are stuck; a popcorn kernel in the teeth right by my throat. Scratching at my gums with a ticklish little sting. I push it with my tongue, but I’m in a crowded theatre, watching an enthralling film. I don’t want to make too much noise and interrupt it. It’s so beautiful, this movie. It takes my breath away, and I am speechless. I’d rather sit and watch the movie, enjoy the flickering lights across screen, than cause a scene that could end the picture before the final credits.
I’m binging ER because there’s a marathon on, and because Alex Kingston is bae.
I used to hate that expression, but now I can’t help it. Is that how linguistic trends start?
People roll their eyes for days and weeks, eventually giving in because the word or expression itself takes on a life of its own? A MEANING all it’s own? Slithering into our language and claiming their own space?
Eh, fuck it. Words are funny. Supercilious. Indubitably. Pickle.
Might as well say bae.