I fully intended to blog yesterday afternoon, but had to dash to the grocery. Last day of school before the holidays and wanted to make cheesecakes for the administrators and office. No reason I should be the only member of the staff with sumptuous thighs. Then, it was dash back home, finish cheesecakes, and ready ourselves for Sarah’s party–the one she’d RSVP’d the day before.
Several of Sarah’s work friends arrived at V.F.W. hall the same time we did, all dressed in their holiday glitz and glitter (Sarah opted for a Christmas tee-shirt). One of her friends, Ann, held the door and excitedly welcomed us in. I told her how pretty she looked, and her comment to me, quite matter-of-factly, was, “Yes, I do look pretty tonight.” And off she walked to join her friend. I smiled, but with a certain sadness, but the sadness was not for Ann. Her self-esteem did not need a makeover. My sadness was for those of us who fail to see our own beauty and for those who may never see it in Ann.
A down-the-bayou band, cafeteria tables and folding chairs, a meal served without fanfare or artistic presentation, a choice of three canned sodas, and they were delighted. So much joy with so few trappings. They slowed danced to foot-tapping music, boogied to the huggy songs, and twirled solo. They were having fun.
And we’re the “normal” ones? How frightening is that?