…with apologies to Esquire’s What I’ve Learned.
11 Things I Thought I Knew
#1: By now I’d have most of the important stuff figured out, that I’d be the wise sage on the mountain top. But the truism of the more I know, the less I understand confounds me daily. What is this, the Matrix?
#2: At some point, I’d lose my ability to sleep like a teenager. Turns out, I still love a good 9-10 hours if I can get it. On the weekends, please refrain from trying to reach me before 9:30am.
#3: When Boy’s grandparents doted on him as a kiddo, I loved the idea of being a grandmother. Grandparents got all the fun with minimal responsibility. Now, the thought of being a grandmother terrifies me (Note: No one is pregnant.). I had such a great time being a mom that I fear I may have been a one-hit wonder. What if I used all my good stuff on Boy and there’s only the bland rice pudding and weird smells left? What if I’m that granny?
#4: Love would be enough. We all know that sometimes it isn’t. Suckiest thing, ever.
#5: Vodka is better than gin in martinis. Yeah, not so much, although, completely dependent on my mood. Do I want the sexy smoothness of vodka or the stinging slap of gin? My 92-year-old great-aunt’s best kept secret is preferring the slap. HARDER!
#6: I would never witness an adult crapping their pants in public. You’d think this one would have been a slam dunk. While, completely true, I have witnessed this, I could never reveal the person. I do have some restraint.
#7: If offered, I’ll try exotic foods, but escargot wouldn’t be one of them. Huh. Wrong again. Although I didn’t technically eat it, because after giving it a few chews, I started gagging beyond what is polite and my brain took over my body and expelled it from my mouth (like a shot out of a cannon into a napkin). I don’t care that the French eat them. I don’t care that they’re slathered in one of my favorite fats, butter. I don’t care that in some circles it’s the height of sophistication to tell the tale of eating such things. What I care about is preventing the same mistake twice.
#8: My ridiculous silliness would mature into, well, a demure maturity. Didn’t happen. Fart jokes, poop jokes, fart sounds, poop sounds = high hilarity, still. In fact, I’m giggling a little just writing about them.
#9: My running days would be behind me by my 40s. I don’t know if it was because when I started running (in elementary school) I didn’t know one other person who ran regularly like me, or if it’s because my elders have drilled me with knee/joint/body break-down stories since I began running, but I didn’t think I’d be here, now, still lacing up my shoes. These days I’m definitely vindicated, but I still hear tales of how my knees will never be able to take more pounding and that I should slow down and maybe just walk or take up bowling.
#10: My ability to adjust to a word processor over writing things out by hand seemed extremely unlikely. I think we can all agree, I have embraced that which was previously unthinkable.
#11: My interest in learning about EVERYTHING would wane. If anything, it’s gotten more intense. I thank the Internets for that. It’s opened an entirely available world to me, and you better believe I’m taking advantage. GOOGLE’D! Until the day I die, I’ll be soaking up the knowledge. You know, just in case I come across a time machine and can go back in time and freak the hell out of folks with my mind-blowing future brain. Not to mention my 21st century fart/poop jokes.