My co-workers don’t get my humor.
Which could be the result of two things:
1. I am not funny.
2. They are not as sarcastically evolved as me.
The correct answer is obvious.
I asked the M.O.D. (Mom, that stands for ‘Manager On Duty’) to take a picture of me with my orange rubber gloves and toilet scrub brush tonight. She asked me if it was for some erotic fantasy I might have.
I cocked one eye and responded,
“No. But now that you mention it…”
Just kidding. I gave up fantasies after the match.com jerk off from India ‘lost’ my number and his wits.
What I was thinking about was how I went from scrubbing urinals at age 22 in a hostel in Portland to working with meth addict teenagers to stocking canned goods at Trader Joes to making commercials with Don King to being a personal assistant and back to scrubbing urinals.
As I tried to scrub the man stench out of the bathroom tonight, I had a momentary flash of awareness:
I was not destined for greatness.
Please don’t argue this fact.
Not everyone gets to be fabulous like Carrie from Sex N the City or my friend Sally who is a smooth operator (yes you are Sally) and could make long underwear and hair that hasn’t been washed in a week, look sexy.
Don’t misunderstand me. I am fabulous in my own right. But I don’t think I was meant to be a philanthropist, a politician, a counselor, a nun, a nurse or doctor, a saint, a business owner, a girlfriend, an actress…well, truth be told…I’m still kind of holding out for that one but my therapist says its just because I want to be “known” or something.
Perhaps my lack of definition has defined me: I am just…ME. Urinals or not.
Clause: That was a very cheesy ending to this blog post, but I’m too lazy to wrap it up, so I guess that I am not a writer either. That’s okay. Maybe I’m like Jesus who says, “I AM.”
Or as Popeye use to say “I yam what I yam.”
I am not going to argue with you.
I pulled a muscle in my back today and I it hurts to breathe so I have my work cut out for me right there.
BUT…..but, but, but…You were made by God, in His or Her image, with Their spirit IN YOU.
That spirit brings JOY to many,
I love you,
Mom
M-O-M…
I L-O-V-E you. Higher than the sky. To the moon and back. And more. Now come to Charlotte and we will go to Asheville for a weekend of Restorative yoga.
Just ……say…..yes.
OMGosh. Your mom’s post made me smile, cry, get chills, and feel inspired to write to you. Megan dearest Megan, you are AMAZING.
Oh Maria,
Thank you for saying that. My M-O-M is one of a special kind. And SO ARE YOU!