This week’s funny story is that with a little prodding, I decided to try consigning some of the jewelry I make at a spa in Guilderland. Dozer, being his good helper self, says: text me some pictures. Please know, Dozer hates every single artistic endeavor I undertake. As in, actually says out loud, “That’s fuckin’ ugly!” This is at least 50% because all his taste is in his mouth and 50% because he doesn’t understand women. That is not how one gets to tag home base. Miss Shannon’s delicate tulip self doesn’t respond well to harsh criticism of her newest medium. (YES, I AM A DELICATE FUCKING TULIP, CAPICE??) So, I already don’t want to play this game. After additional prompting, I text him the last four pieces I made while holding my breath and simultaneously praying I don’t want to stab him with a fork, largely because I don’t have any, by the time we’re done.
Style is subjective, people. Friendly reminder, if you don’t look good, you don’t feel good. Do your roots, add a sparkly, do something that makes you feel pretty. Try not to ask Dozer what he thinks of your outfit, he will tell you. Anyway, he picks this nifty tiger’s eye piece with these little metal beads that catch the light well. He wants to sell it for $120, which is so far above my pay grade, it’s not even funny. It’s the one he liked best, which means it’s the one that didn’t make him retch. I am supposed to use this as to gauge how well my stuff will sell, except I would have priced it at $40. Maybe $45, because I have shopped before and know what I would pay for something like that. Please know, I made my Ma a necklace for her birthday. She works in a nice jewelry store, also far above my pay grade. One of her customers tried to buy it off her neck. My stuff doesn’t suck and I know it.
Nary a nibble on the jewels, as expected. Meanwhile, I have discovered the identity of the fork thief and she looks a lot like me. When I was twenty-two, I was not stealing my mama’s forks, just mentioning. I’m not even mad, it’s too funny. On second thought, when I was twenty-two I was hauling two kids with one on the way and shacking up with a guy who liked unemployment better than pretty much anything on earth. Keep stealing my forks, kid, you’re doing better than I was by a long shot. Can you feel my love?? (Bombs away!!) That song bite was brought to you by the letter F and my salt and pepper holder, Geronimo.
Miss Shannon is under an inordinate amount of pressure right at the moment. Opening a second site, trying to finalize the tax year for my clients, the deeply felt loss of my forks, and there’s a kid in a Pikachu suit jumping on my furniture. I’m actually spending the evening with Mount Washmore and wishing I had a full time cleaning person. All those voices in my head, calling Gloria… They’re really saying Shannon, Shannon… I have a task for you!!! This is part of why I look at Dozer like he has three heads when he blows up his kitchen and then wants me to clean it. No thanks, I have enough for any three women to do, I’m overwhelmed, and I really want a woobie. In less than two weeks I will turn 41, and I am no where I intended to be and that kills me. I will prevail…it’s what I do but right now I have to just keep swimming, swimming, swimming. That’s what you do, you keep on swimming.