Did you ever get everything you ever asked for and realized you forgot an important part of the question?

Did you ever get everything you ever asked for and realized you forgot an important part of the question?

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It started with breasts. Yup. Second generation feminist and it was all about boobs. Everyone who was “pretty” had them. They were code for feminine and getting what you needed from life. Dagwood’s Blondie could have knocked herself out in a run. EVERY princess in Disney had gotten a wonderbra a few centuries before the rest of us. I knew that if I had them my life would fall into place. 

Did I mention 2nd wave feminist? I knew for a fact I would be going to college and have a job. I also knew I would have to find a husband. Somehow I was expected to live up to every image of the 50’s while simultaneously rocking a career...in heels...and with cleavage. Whatever was listening was lets say generous or at least had a VERY good sense of humor...or had a thing for anime.

I forgot to ask for a stop point. It was Stephen King’s skinny man in reverse. It was Alice growing out of a house but for me it was TShirts. A became a c completely no sense of decorum or moderation jumping the b became alllllll of the Des. I ended up somewhere in H as in what the HELL was my DNA thinking before I went to a surgeon to correct my body’s overreaching ambitions. 

Learned my lesson much oh no. I have always been susceptible to the if only I had statements. Trust me I’m a marketers dream. I had so many ambitions I just forgot how to make the right deals. My sister who by the way is a lawyer will tell you I never look for the fine print.  

I wanted a house a great family a career that mattered. How could things go wrong if you have all of that? What could possibly....enter body by Picasso if Picasso was inspired by Dali. Not an art major? Let me help you. I have Ehlers Danlos. Connective tissue made by the glue sticks you might have licked in Kindergarten. I dislocate by pointing at things. 

Lovely people recoil when hearing this.”Does it hurt.” Get whispered. A dare. Please tell me the answer is no. I suck at lying. I also have a perverted sense of fun. “Every time.” Watching world views change before a summer child’s eyes is a sick entertainment. I have few. 

See I forgot to say how long I wanted that great career, that I would like to be able to clean my house, drive my kids places, be able to sit up and watch endless recitals and [practices, walk my lovely slobbery dogs, and maybe even go out at NIGHT with my husband. 

Deals are tricky. It is almost impossible to know what to ask for when you haven’t lived it. Or perhaps my rose color glasses leave me blinder than I like to acknowledge. 

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