That there is probably the most misleading post title I’ve ever written. But I can’t say that I care. (I’m afraid I’ve become a bit apathetic about the old blog lately. Can’t really explain it, but I like to think it’s a phase.)
I am not currently tangoing. For one thing, I’m home alone. For another, I don’t even know how to tango. I took some lessons once. They didn’t go well. In fact, if they had carried on, they may well have ended my marriage. And I wasn’t even married yet then. Either that or we might have eventually learned to tango. That would have been cool. I’d like to know how to tango. Like the parents on the Addams Family. Hmm. Maybe we should try tango lessons again. Ack! No! See, folks, this is how you get yourself in trouble even though you know better.
Anyway, all I’m really doing is sitting here listening to tango music. Which is great, by the way. You should try it. Although maybe on a Tuesday. Only because Tango Tuesdays sounds better than Tango Mondays. I could have Mango Mondays instead. Now that might be good. Except that I don’t really like mangoes. They make my teeth feel all filmy, like unripe bananas do. Still, to have Mango Mondays followed right after by Tango Tuesdays, well, what a life that would be, no?
I don’t know what I’d do on Wednesdays though. I’m pretty sure a Wango isn’t a real thing. Or if it is, it’s probably kind of dirty and maybe not something someone should be doing every Wednesday. I suppose we could just drop the rhyme altogether and go literary with Wacky Wednesdays. There’s a shoe on the wall and it shouldn’t be there at all. Crazy baby.
I went to the baby shower of a dear friend this weekend. It was on the island. (Everyone here calls Vancouver Island “The Island” as if it were the only one.)
So to get there, I took the ferry and I chose an excellent sailing. Somewhere around the halfway mark this guy – I’d guess he was about 17 but I’m bad at that- came up to this girl sitting a little way ahead of me and started singing to her. Loudly. It was unclear whether she knew him or not, but she seemed quite embarrassed. And then, part way through the song, two other guys came over and joined in the singing. And they were harmonizing and everything. Some poppy-sounding song about her not knowing how beautiful she was or something. It was like being in a cheesy movie, except real. It was kind of wonderful.
I have very mixed feelings about baby showers. I mean, I love the idea of a party with a theme and with games and where you get to give presents to someone you care about. (I am assuming that people don’t go to showers of people they don’t care about, but I could be wrong.) And at this one I got to see people I don’t get to see often, so that was excellent.
Also, there was a girl there with hair like a Disney princess. I wanted to pet her, but decided that would be inappropriate. Seriously though, her hair was gorgeous.
When you are a kid and you go to someone’s birthday party and the birthday kid is opening presents, you always kind of wish it was your party, because it would be nice if they were your presents. It’s the same at a wedding shower, where you’re all, “Damn, those are some nice, fluffy looking towels.”
But at a baby shower, the presents are things that only people with babies would want. Like onesies. And breast pumps. So when the person getting the present holds up the thing and you’re supposed to go “OOh!” you instead just think, “Huh. Well, hope you enjoy that.” But you still have to go “Ooh.” Otherwise you will look like a bad person who doesn’t like children or something.
Also extremely weird is that by the end of a baby shower, the whole thing always ends up turning into labour horror story storytime for the women who have already had kids. This seems wildly inappropriate to me, but it is also apparently obligatory.
Also, while the whole thing is going on, I have to hold myself back a little, because I am always a bit tempted to throw myself at the feet of the mother-to-be and beg her to still be my friend after she has her baby and not disappear, because that happens a lot and it’s always very sad.
I bought myself roses today. They are beautiful. The tips of the petals are a little burnt-looking, so I don’t think they’ll last too long, but I think for that very reason they were only $5, so I don’t mind. Meanwhile, they are gorgeous.
Actually, right now, I’m feeling like life is pretty gorgeous.
8 thoughts on “Tango Mondays (Ramblings of an Unfocused Mind)”
Unripe bananas are the best. I like them when they’re a nice green-yellow.
Ugh, no. Makes your teeth feel so gross.
I’m glad I’m not the only one who feels conflicted about baby showers!
It’s not especially deep conflict. I mostly like them. I think it makes a difference who it’s for, too. If I didn’t care about the person too much, I probably wouldn’t go. But then, if I didn’t care about them that much, I would probably be able to avoid the melancholy of knowing I probably won’t see them much over the next few years.
I feel way too many emotions after reading this post. I’m glad it’s happy at the end, though. 🙂 (And you should’ve gone to the baby shower I threw for my friend – it had alcohol and boys and fun games and no such stories of mucus plugs and placenta prolapses and whatnot. Good times.)
I have never heard of a placenta prolapse, but I think I’m pretty glad about that. Your party sounds good. This one was good too, just showerish. I am very intrigued by the emotions this made you feel. Please share. (I hope it wasn’t annoyance at that lack of paragraphs. I fixed that eventually. Not sure why I thought it would be a good idea.)
Nope there were paragraphs when I read it (WHEW!). It was more just the string of thoughts – I kept wanting to respond to various ones, but by the time I got to the bottom, I didn’t know where to start! First it was funny, then it made an interesting point about the baby showers, then it was poignant about friendships lost when babies come, and then there was the poetic flower part at the end with the metaphor for life thrown in for good measure. Emotion-wise, I ran the gamut, my friend.