“You see my happy shirt?” The little girl’s insistent face pressed nearly up to mine before I noticed her, so enthralled I was with the book I was reading tonight at the library. Truth to be told I didn’t notice her shirt at all, at first, but rather her halo of little cornrow braids with various candy wrappers expertly tied in so that she looked just like a rainbow of Skittles. So I smiled. What other option did I have?
Proudly she unzipped her jacked and puffed out her twee chest, her toddler breath puffing into my face, reminding me that I still had a shirt to admire. The shirt in question was hot pink with a large smiley face emblazoned on it in black glitter. Her own broad grin echoed that of her shirt. “Well that is the happiest shirt I have ever seen!” I exclaimed both acknowledging and dismissing her in a single breath. Heaven knows I have enough insistent little faces to deal with in my life and for once they were busily reading their own books (which in Jelly Bean’s case entailed putting all the toddler board books into her tiny grocery cart and proclaiming “It’s on sale!” with each new find – wherever would she have got that from??) so would anyone begrudge me my ten minutes of peace?
I have SO done this.
I’m not too proud to admit this: I cried all the way through Anne Hathaway’s solo as the cursed Fantine in Les Miserable. And not just a few sniffles – I sobbed. And sang along. And sobbed harder. It was the ugliest of ugly cries. I would have been mortified except I was sitting next to my friend Jeni who was crying and singing just as much as I was. I’m not sure what the rest of the theater was doing but in that moment both of us were completely caught up in one of the most moving stories ever to be written, accompanied by one of the best scores ever written. (And just to make you sure you understand the depth of my Les Mis love I’ve seen the Broadway production twice and cried like a hysterical fool through that too. My copy of Victor Hugo’s novel is one of the most highlighted, most read books I own.)
About a month ago I got a sweet note from my little bro, who is on the Internet so much he’d have a fiber optic cable attached to his brain Matrix-style… if that weren’t so low-tech. (I think his brain might actually be The Cloud. Shh.) Anyhow. “Uh, Shosh?” he wrote me. (Yes, Shosh is my childhood nickname. Don’t ask.) “I think someone’s stealing your stuff…” And he sent me a link to a website that had stolen some of my photos, stripped off my copyright and refashioned them as “fitspiration.”
First, lest you think they were fetishizing my particular body, let me disillusion you. The pics were of me working out and they were using them as inspiration to workout until you puke. Second, you all know how I feel about fitspiration. It’s basically thinspiration in a sports bra. And thinspiration is the Miley Cyrus of Internet memes: provocative, in your face and with the intelligence (and grammar) of a 3rd-grader. Oh, and they’re both bad for little girls.
It’s called the “bend-over pull through” but surely it deserves a better name than that! Help me out in the comments?
Me: “My butt hurts!”
Me: “Why is that?”
Other Gym Buddy: “My butt’s fine but I can’t laugh for how sore my abs are.”
Gym Buddy: “Oooh me too – and heaven help me if I sneeze!”