11 Things I Thought I Knew

…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.