Sometimes Our Lives Save Us From Ourselves

Sometimes Our Lives Save Us From Ourselves

In my humble opinion, this is one of the advantages of aging. To be able to look back on all the asinine things you were convinced, in that moment, that you absolutely, positively HAD to have—and be thankful to God they passed you by.

Several come to mind. Certain jobs, men, tattoos.

Lace-up leather pants.

So does a haircut straight from the pages of Vogue that my hairdresser, (who has remained a friend, probably because of this very thing) talked me out of at the last second.
“You can’t carry it off,” he said, after downing his second or third glass of liquid courage as I showed him a picture and begged for his compliance.
In the end, he was dead on. I didn’t have the neck length, face, cool factor, body, zah-zah zoo, bank account, self-esteem, etc. to wear the equivalent of Madonna’s armpit hair on my head. Permed. Long in the front. Dyed purple. Shaved on the sides for effect.
Think Apollonia in Purple Rain.

Lord have mercy.

Don’t get me wrong. If I’m honest, which I try to be, well, at least every other Tuesday in months that end in a Y,
I’ve fought for and gotten many things which in hindsight I wish someone had just locked me in the attic for a decade or two until I came to my senses and reconsidered. I bet you have too.

An all-white kitchen. Had to have it. Huge regret. Giant. And one I live with daily.

White kitchens, unless you employ a staff of tens to clean and repaint the walls and cabinets on a weekly basis, look good for the first five minutes. You feel like the luckiest woman to ever wield a spatula as you survey, hands on hips, the blinding white glory that your eyes behold.
Then real life kicks in with real dogs (big dogs, not purse pooches) with their eye snot, dog food laden jowl drool, and the snarfed face smear-fest that is perpetually showing up on every surface at about knee height. Never mind the bacon splatter, tomato sauce, and wine stains. Oh, and the chipped paint collateral havoc that living your best life seems to wreak.

Needless to say mine, because my husband is a contractor and as such insists that in the small print somewhere in our marriage contract it is stated that he MAY NOT smell wet paint or drywall dust at home—my kitchen is in a constant state of “long in the tooth” which is just a colloquial term for shabby. And not in the chic way which is tragically out of style anyway.

If you aren’t listed on the Forbes Wealthiest Americans list and you show me a picture of a Nancy Meyers, all-white kitchen you love and are thinking of building and you ask you my opinion—I will take a page out my hairdresser’s book.
“You can’t carry to off,” I will say, knowing you have neither the time, staff, nor fucks left to give.

And you will thank me.

I like taking this time to look back and see how life has saved me from myself. To be grateful and count my blessings for all of the bullets I’ve dodged.

I only wish I’d bought stock in those Mr. Clean spot remover thingies I use every damn day for the white kitchen cabinets I absolutely HAD to have.

Carry on,
xox

4 Comments
  • dominator says:

    Garth Brooks said it best:
    …”Some of God’s greatest gifts are unanswered prayers!”…

  • Laura says:

    Hey! Boxer snot rules, but don’t knock the purse dog and its paw prints shin height on the cabinet doors as they beg for you to drop a crumb. xo

  • Stephanie says:

    My boxers, may they be running happily in the Heavens, would roll in the sandy sod of my Southern Florida lawn. They would bring it in, this sandy muck laden with Okeechobee peat and whatever black soot from the nearby power plant, and deposit it by shoulder rub on my cream walls. (I know the knee-high wall-smudge of doggie-butts very well.) My favorite was when they would sneeze this sandy snotty mess onto the walls, white kitchen cabinets and doors. I had to scrap those nasty cement-globbing dog-boogers with a putty knife.
    If I had wood faced cabinets and walls, I would never see this mess. Would I have been able to live in a contented bliss of filth? Or is it better that I could see it to try to keep it clean?
    Love you & keep writing.
    xo

    • jbertolus says:

      Oh, Steph,
      Since we both have had boxers I knew you’d get it! Dark cabinets are a must!
      Thanks for the reading and commenting!
      Love you,
      xox Janet

Hi, I’m Janet

Mentor. Pirate. Dropper of F-bombs.

This is where I write about my version of life. My stories. Told in my own words.

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