Eyeliner and Bathrobes


If I could have one wish? Hmmmmm? World peace? Nope. Sorry guys, if people can’t figure out how to behave….why should I help?

A million dollars? Maybe….you know, at one time, I thought that a million bucks was a bucket load of money. Then we moved to Oakland. Sorry, but a million buckaroos will get you a 1 bedroom condo and maybe a Dior purse.  That’s it.  Just think, you could walk out my front door, and you could spend $1,000,000,000 in less than an hour.  Amazing.   No, what I’d ask for is black eyeliner that stays put.  Imagine going to the gym and looking up from the Stairmaster and not making that guy next to you gasp in horror.  I admit it, I am one of those women who wear makeup to workout, actually, just eyeliner and mascara…without these, women pull their children close, making the sign of the cross as I walk past.

I don’t think my husband has seen me without anything on my face.  No, that’s wrong.  About a year ago, I woke up one morning with that scratchy feeling in my throat…I did a quick check of my vital signs…uh oh, I could breath through only one nostril…and who hit me with a baseball bat? That’s not a good sign, I moaned to myself…I can’t breath, my throat hurts and my hair aches. DH had already left for work-he leaves at an ungodly hour to commute to his job—so I was on my own.

I pulled the comforter up around me and tried to sleep, which is impossible when you can’t breath. Frustrated I called the cats for company, patting the bed next to me… hopping up onto our bed and burrowing under the comforter is a major cat treat, reserved for DH’s absence…for some inhumane reason, DH has declared that the cats are forbidden to sleep on our bed. To me, one of the main reasons for cat ownership is that purring thing they do when they curl up with you…it puts me right to sleep…actually; I blame my insomnia on DH’s No Cat in Bed Rule. To squelch or lessen my protests, DH put two heated cat beds in the corner of our bedroom and also the living room (ostensibly to keep them off the furniture)…When I complain that I want to sleep with the cats, DH points out that I am welcome to go to their corner and join them. To be fair, it goes without saying that left on my own, I would turn into that crazy cat lady down the block…I soon realized that I married and get to live with the crazy cat man).  Despite the cat’s warm and cozy velvet beds (yeah, really), I miss curling up with them. So we have this routine, when DH leaves for work, as soon as his key locks the front door, they scamper up onto the bed…We have this routine down pat.  I am amazed how they know who is responsible for their forced exile.  One morning, DH unexpectedly returned to retrieve a forgotten item, the cats suddenly sat up and then scampered off of the bed as soon as he unlocked the front door. They high-fived each other with their little paws in the air when DH finally left.

So I spent the most of the day buried beneath the comforter with our two cats stationed on either side of me. My nose finally unstuffed, I was able to sleep through most of the day. When I get a cold or the flu, my body thankfully goes unconscious.  Around 5 or so, I woke still too sick to do much more than my beached whale impression, I got up and decided to lie on the sofa. I pulled on my favorite bathrobe. I’ve had the robe since college…it is two sizes too large, but very soft and furry. It’s made out of faux fur in a leopard print; actually, it’s an acrylic fur (read: shiny) in a light brown with what appears to be black dots someone spray painted onto the tips of the shiny fur, but after years of washing, bits of the fur have fallen out along with some of the dots, it looks like its made from the pelts of very ill hyenas. I don’t care,  love this robe, it’s so soft and warm…and when I wear it to get the morning paper, none of our gang member neighbors mess with me…in fact, they often cross the street when I appear.

Nonetheless, given the fact that most men don’t go for the balding hyena look, I only wore it well after DH and I were married…in our dating days, I am afraid it might have constituted a deal breaker.

Armed in the warmth of my furry robe, I figured my feet should be warm. When I was a kid, my mother had a thing about bare feet. Going around without shoes would surely lead to a cornucopia of maladies from the croup to scarlet fever, “You’ll catch pneumonia,” she’d yell if my brother and I watched the TV barefoot…going outside to play without shoes was unthinkable…What? Did we want to catch some weird disease and die??  It wasn’t until high school before I realized that the Black Death of the middle ages wasn’t caused by people who didn’t wear socks and shoes. The holdover is that I always wear shoes—running barefoot through the grass seems very odd to me (besides, living in the city, there are scant patches of grass and usually urban pooches have visited them first, so eeewww!)

I put on my pig slippers. I know that most people prefer to wear bunny slippers and that they are the pinnacle of cuteness. But I have inordinately small feet—whenever I go shopping for slippers, it seems that my shopping is timed to occur days after the last run on bunny slippers…For some reason, mothers have stocked up on furry slippers with rabbit ears for their children. The shelves are empty. So, instead of yanking them off the feet of children, I am left with a slipper menagerie filled with the lesser animals…hence, my piggy slippers.  Besides I think mine are more sophisticated. My piggy slippers are what I like to consider as my post-modern porcine slippers…they consist of 2 pigs deconstructed…pink slippers with just a hot pink pig nose glued on the toes to give the mere perception of a pig…there were ears at one time, but you’d have to talk to the cats about that.

I shuffled out to the living room…and settled in to watch the evening news…somewhere between the traffic report and sports I fell back into a deep slobbering sleep. Keys jangled in the front door lock…the cats leapt off of the sofa to form a furry welcoming line at the front door—we have very friendly cats… The front door opened onto a dark apartment the blue light from the TV cast an earie glow. I sat up, my hair shmooshed up on one side, and one pig slippered foot poked its pink nose from beneath my balding bathrobe, the other lay ravaged under the coffee table. Obviously, while I slept, the cats had had their way with it.

When DH’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he gasped the gasp that was strangely reminiscent of that girl scream he does when I make him kill a spider. He had left early that morning, a normal looking person lay sleeping in bed…the look on his face, keys in one hand, his briefcase strangely held shield-like in the other bespoke that upon return from work, he had expected that same person, hopefully in an upright position.  Aside from that girl scream, DH proved to be a pretty compassionate caregiver.   Bowls of soup were prepared, he coaxed me back to bed…where he begged me to bring his wife back.

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Published in: Uncategorized on December 10, 2009 at 6:41 AM  Leave a Comment  

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