If only they knew

A bit of background for those who don’t know, or who don’t recall. I’ve been with John for 27 years this August. I love him to bits. However, I can’t say the same for most of his family. I like his one brother and sister-in-law, and one of his grown nieces. His two sisters? Can’t stand them. His pervy brother-in-law? Ugh ugh ugh. His other niece and two nephews? I can take or leave. They were all brats growing up, and none of them ever showed John any respect, because their parents didn’t either. I put up with this dynamic for years, through a gazillion holidays and gatherings — birthdays, graduations, weddings, showers — until two events: John’s open heart surgery, and his mother’s passing. Some of the behavior around these events was so unforgivable, I told John that, aside from the exceptions mentioned above, I was done with his family. Period. He respected that, and over the past few years, he went to an occasional Christmas or Thanksgiving dinner without me.

Another bit of background: For years, his eldest sister and her creepy husband used to throw a huge Christmas bash every year, with live music, a crap ton of alcohol, and a ginormous rowdy crowd. I hated these parties; they were loud and obnoxious and something unpleasant always happened — I got my feet stepped on, my boob grabbed, a drink spilled on me. I mostly sat on the sidelines at these things and I guess I never looked all that happy about being there. One year when the party invitation arrived, John’s BIL added a note at the bottom; something along the lines of: “Tell Erica she should feel comfortable at this one; we’ve invited a group of librarians.”

Fuck. You.

Cut to the present. John’s nephew, who moved to Denmark a few years ago to work for Lego, met and married a woman there about six months ago. They’d already had a wedding, but then they flew here to have a second ceremony for all the family and friends that weren’t at the first one. (More swag, right?) We got the invite and I thought, oh, crap. I can’t skip this. I need to show up with John for support. So I steeled myself to see some people I haven’t seen for years, whom I can’t stand, and put on a face for a few hours. Be pleasant. Smile. And get it over with.

We almost didn’t go. John developed a chest cold last week and he was coughing and wheezing, not sleeping, and we figured it would be rude to expose over a hundred people. But then he went to the doctor, had a chest x-ray and other tests. No Covid, x-ray was clear, and the doc said it should just run its course and no, he wasn’t a walking contagion. And a couple of prescription meds helped his cough and he felt better. Sooo… we went.

Have to say, this was quite the affair. It was at a country club, posh digs. There was a cocktail hour at 5:00, and then after 6:00, we all got seated in the dining room for dinner, speeches, dancing, pictures, etc. One very cool aside — every flower you saw, whether it was the centerpieces at the dining table or the roses on the cocktail tables, was made of Legos. John and I were seated at a good table, with his brother, SIL, and the niece we like and her boyfriend. Of course, one of the witch sisters was on John’s other side, but he made the best of that. I ignored her. During the evening, we found out the bride and groom had already been here for a couple of weeks, and there had been a few family/friend gatherings. John said, “I guess they lost my email and phone number.” My heart hurt for him. Ugh. He deserves so much better than this.

I did a lot of people watching. One thing that shocked me was how much, and how badly, some of these people aged. I thought it was just me, but then John’s brother was talking with me and he said that it was strange for him being here, seeing people he hadn’t seen in years, and how most of them were “barely recognizable.” Then he added, “Except for you; you always look the same!” I thought that was sweet. But yeah. I guess alcohol and poisonous souls age people.

Later, after dinner and speeches, the dance floor was opened. You can always tell who has had the most to drink once the dancing starts — the really wild, uninhibited dancers are flying to their own tune. I have to say I loved the music — it was a mix of 60s, 70s and 80s, with a few current songs thrown in. We mostly watched (one guy actually got down on the floor and break-danced), but John and I did dance to a couple of numbers. We were off to the side slow-dancing when John’s BIL came by and remarked in passing, “Wow, check out that wild dancing. You’ll need to buy a new pair of shoes tomorrow.”

Again… Fuck. You.

I brought that up to John later, and he quipped, “Well, what did he expect? I was dancing with a librarian.” Then he added, “You know the irony of all this? They think we’re so staid and boring — if only they knew the kinds of parties we’ve been to. They couldn’t even begin to touch some of the things we’ve done.”

Yeah. If only they knew. If they could see the other side of quiet, boring Erica the stiff, and John the socially awkward brain-iac engineer.

I wanted to say to John’s BIL: “Hey, J. You think you’re such a big deal with your cool hipster friends and your pontificating at every gathering and your wild parties? Ever been to a party where you see this?”

Or this?

“And yes, J, that’s me on the far left on the bed, and on the right in the bubbles. Put that in your library book and shove it.”

Of course, they’ll never know any of this. But sometimes, it sure is fun to imagine their faces if they found out. “Whaaaat? Johnny, our weird little brother and his stick-up-her-ass girlfriend? You mean they don’t go to the Pocket Protector Convention? They’re… kinky?? They’ve actually done stuff we haven’t even dreamed about in our most drunken, weed-fueled bacchanalia? Say it isn’t so!”

(sigh) Hopefully this is the last of the family events for a while. I’m glad we showed up. But yeah. I still don’t like most of these people. Some things never change.

Dear Ageism: You can GFY

Can we all agree that Halle Berry is one of the most stunningly beautiful women on the planet? The other day, she posted this gorgeous and tastefully sexy picture on Twitter. She is 56 years old.

Kudos to her. And then some asshole retweeted the picture and wrote this:

Imagine being in your 50s and still posting nudes for attention in menopause when you should be chilling with the grandkids. Aging with dignity is no longer a thing.

Oh. My. God.

This cretin was actually age/body shaming Halle Freaking Berry?? I saw red. A lot of other people did too.

Soooo… once we pass “a certain age,” all we’re good for is sitting around playing Dot to Dot with our age spots and singing “How Dry I Am”? We’re demoted from Woman to Grandma?

Well, y’all know me and how I feel on this subject, kids. I just had to make a statement. So I retweeted his tweet and wrote:

On behalf of all women in their 50s and beyond who refuse to sit in a rocker and knit socks, who think women are more than baby factories, who thumb their noses at ageing and ageism from people like you, I’ve got a special message for you.

And of course, I accompanied it with this picture:

That was yesterday, but the likes and retweets are still coming. 😀 Got some new followers too.

Put that in your Metamucil and shove it. 😛

Well, that was interesting

Not quite in the way we’d planned, though. (See previous post for details.)

The kiddie party went well. It was a beautiful day, there was pizza, and yes, there were even a couple of dogs to pet, so I was happy. We stayed for that a couple of hours, then came home to nap and then get ready to go to the kink party that evening.

We had about 45 minutes to an hour to drive, and we always use my car, as John’s truck is manual transmission and isn’t the most comfortable ride. John usually drives when we’re in unfamiliar territory, but he had a badly infected finger and I was trying to give him a break from stressing it, so I drove. We were over halfway there, on the freeway at full speed, and someone sideswiped me on the driver’s side. The jolt and noise were horrible and I screamed, but I kept control of the car and managed to pull onto the shoulder. Meanwhile, the driver took off into the night and we never knew what hit us.

We were lucky. It could have been so much worse. No injury, and the damage to the car was cosmetic. Really ugly — basically the back half of the left side was scraped and gouged — but the car was completely drivable. So now what? Should we go home? We decided, what the hell. We’re more than halfway there. We’re all dressed up. It would be horrible to have gone through this for nothing; we might as well go on and get ourselves there.

Damned if I know how I kept driving. I was shaking all over, trying to keep my breathing even. I didn’t cry. I kept it together. I had to. I was behind the wheel. It was like someone else took over my body and kept me going. John was very comforting, telling me I was doing great, that I hadn’t done anything wrong. He made a good point — if this had been my fault, the other driver would have stopped so they could get my information and so forth. But they’d plowed into me out of nowhere; I was in my own lane and minding my own business. So this was unavoidable.

We arrived and parked. I had to change shoes; I was wearing comfortable flats to drive and had to put on my fetishy high heels. It took several minutes to get them on; my hands were shaking so badly, I couldn’t get the damn tiny buckle to go into the even tinier hole. But finally we were pulled together and ready to go in.

Turns out it was the right decision. The party was a distraction. There were hugs and friendly faces. I was able to get a bottle of water right away, which helped. I was able to calm down, relax a bit, even laugh. And I was able to have two great scenes, with what I consider to be the two of the best men there (besides John, of course). 🙂 It felt like old times, especially the first scene. We were in a small room and my butt was facing toward the door. Behind me, I could hear voices, “Is that Erica?” “That looks like Erica’s butt.” And Mr. Woodland said, “Yes, it’s Erica! Say hi, Erica!” I raised my hand from the floor and did a backwards wave. Three women came in to watch, including the beautiful Maddy Marks, and then I heard, “I thought it was her! Those are the kinds of panties she likes to wear, with the lacy trim.” I’m known for my panties?? I couldn’t stop laughing; of course, then Mr. W felt like he needed to ramp things up a bit to refocus my attention.

The second scene was right before we left, with Maddy’s beau Siq (pronounced “Sick”; not his real name, of course); it was the first time I’ve ever played with him, and I loved it. It was just what I needed to end the night on a positive spin and I was so happy he’d sought me out. He was so sweet too — asked me how my nerves were feeling (he knew about the accident) and if I was up for playing. I would definitely enjoy a repeat performance.

Anyway, we made it home without further incident. John’s finger was feeling better — the swelling had gone down — so he drove this time, for which I was grateful. Part of me never wanted to drive again, but I need to get over that, of course. Yesterday I called and made a claim with AAA, and today I will be talking with an adjuster, arranging for body work, a rental car, etc. I have rental coverage and collision coverage, so I’m handled. There will be a deductible, of course. Yesterday, I caught John with his hands on my wallet. “Oops!” he said. “Nothing to see here.” He’d stuffed a bunch of cash into my wallet to handle the deductible. He insisted. “You drove. It’s your car. You have to deal with it all. You got us through it. It’s the least I can do.” I do love that man. ♥

So… hell of a price to pay for being able to play a bit, but I did have fun despite it all. Even got a few light marks; damn, I’m out of condition! Onward with the week.