Unseemly Complaining

1.  I’m tired.

2.  I’m monumentally grouchy.

3.  My dad sent me photos they took on their vacation.  Some are of me.  And I’m pissed.

This is so stupid, but when I was little, I used to hate how my grandma seemed both so big and sturdy and yet also had this way of moving around with her whole body, but especially how she holds her hands and arms, that makes her seem so delicate.

How can something be both big and sturdy and seem also so delicate?  It’s just not right.  I assumed the delicacy was an affectation on her part, a way to make herself seem fragile, even though her size would never ordinarily make you think that about her.

And I really loathed that about her, that she would fake being weak and girly so as to make up for being fat.

But you know what, folks?  I hold myself the same god damn way.  It’s not conscious or intentional.  Shoot, I want to look like the kind of girl you should not try to pull any crap on, but I look like a girl who will giggle when you squeeze her (and I will!) and whose hands flit about her like excited pink birds. 

I’m convinced that life will eventually make you eat what you hate and so here I am learning the hard way that I’ve been wrongly hating something about my Grandma that a.) she couldn’t help and b.) that I do, too.

I feel kind of shitty.

And tired.

And grouchy. 

7 thoughts on “Unseemly Complaining

  1. It’s the humidity. I live in Cleveland and the humidity is 87% — Nashville is 76% but your dew point (measure of soupiness) is higher 72º vs 70º. Anything over 60 is tropical over 70 Arrrgggggghhhhh! I am advocating long naps in front of a fan!

  2. "whose hands flit about her like excited pink birds"That’s a wonderful image. And I think talking with one’s hands is waaay cooler than leaving them sitting there passively.

  3. Yep, those darn genetics will trump you every time. The older I get, the more I find that to be true, sometimes to my great consternation.Dagnabbit.

  4. I am a recent transplant from the Dooce and I find myself here every morning. I think we can all find in ourselves traits or habits or body parts (these hips lie..like dogs) we hate and what we can’t change (liposuction).I really, really like your blog and if this was myspace you would sooo be in my top 8!!

  5. > I’m convinced that life will eventually make you eat what you hateI hate French Silk Pie. No, I really detest French Silk Pie….I’m *waiting*!

  6. Don’t sass me, indifferent children. You sass now. But when you have some kind of horrid accident and are dropped into the French Silk pie machine at Sarah Lee and can only survive by eating your way out, we’ll see who’s laughing.

  7. oh that’s good. hate silk pie! :) whaaaaaaa!oh yes…the dreaded genetic hand-me-downs, specially from a relative you don’t like so very much…like I always hated how my mother would stand for a photo, with this forced posed stance with her fingers spread eagle placed just so on her leg, I mean, it was so embarrassing, I wanted to slap her for being such a dork…aiy. And then this morning when I’m waiting for Goody (the best most perfect dog in the universe) while he smells this and that, I find I’m doing the same damn stupid thing…what is with the hand??! all spread wide placed on the leg?? what is THAT?! freak! I am, a, freak.

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