Attention

Apparently I need a lot of attention. And the funny thing is that this is news to me.

I’d call it more like validation. A word I’m still not happy about, but I’m not sure that it’s a bad thing. I suppose the people who know me say “Yeeaasss! Of course you need a lot of attention,” all the while looking at me as if I’m the only one who doesn’t know this.

I do like to be noticed. I like to be known. I do not want to be famous in a celebrity, look-at-me kind of way. It’s more like an I-am-not-invisible, I-co-exist-with-you-on-this-earth, a-simple-acknowledgment-will-suffice kind of way. I want you to think I am funny or at least amusing, insightful and when you walk away, think somehow positively of me. Memorable, I guess. I strive to be memorable.

But yesterday morning I failed miserably. At 7:30 a.m., on my way home from depositing my older son and his friends at high school, I got pulled over for speeding. Cool. I got a cop’s attention. I live for these moments. I have a recent uniform fetish that needs feeding. So on occasion, I fantasize about big strapping guys in some position of authority that requires them all to wear the same style of clothing – hence the word uniform -- doing interesting things to me. And this was my moment. My fantasy about to unfold. But, I was in my pajamas. And not lingerie either. The old, ugly kind you wear ‘cause no one is going to be looking at you. I basically rolled out of bed and put myself in the car. I was a disheveled mess. Smeared mascara, hair all over the place and unbathed. I am pretty sure I smelled. A fact I still find hilarious. But I was doing 44 in a 30 and got caught. Normally I would have brought my A-game to this episode. Leaned out the car window, flicked my hair a time or two, lowered my sunglasses down the bridge of my nose, smiled and flattered him in some way. Basically, flirted my way out of it. But yesterday, I had no game. Certainly not my A-game. I didn’t even have a C-game. I was trailer park trash bordering on a D- or even F-game. My moment lost forever. So not only did I get one ticket for the 14 extra miles per hour I was doing, I got a second one for not having my license handy. I’d forgotten it. At my house. A block away. Had I had my A-game? The officer would have been more than happy to escort me back to retrieve it and waive that ticket as well.

So still trying to be memorable for that day, I told my husband a story about an experience I had earlier. And he said that while, yes my story was funny; I am funny in a way that when I die I am going to instantly burn for the bad things I say and do. Imagining me spontaneously combust the moment after I die, cracked him up. For quite some time. Actually I think he is still laughing.

Here it goes. While I admit I am in no way altruistic and do not deny a tendency to be mean, I try not to be overtly hurtful. See while I was at the doctor’s office waiting to be seen, I became repulsed by the close proximity of this incredibly old man. Let’s call it what it was – he was decrepit, a walking skeleton with grey crooked horse teeth and skin that was stretched thin over a hunched, feeble frame. Essentially, to my recollection, he was dead but no one had the heart to tell him. And he was almost close enough to breathe on me. Eeeewwww. At first I tried to hold my breath, but when that didn’t work, I got up to move, which coincided with an elderly lady with a walker leaving the office. So I got up and opened the door for her to shuffle through. She said I was very kind. Even blessed me. See? Memorable. My mission accomplished. At least for that day.