LIFE STUFF
I’m a Shit
And I refuse to apologize for it
As I’ve talked about my refusal to embrace the aging process before, I won’t belabor the point. But, I want to stress, and many of you may relate, that when your time on this earth takes on a finite patina, spending even one day doing something that goes against your grain, is a bitch.
I’ve always considered myself a good person who finds it difficult to say “no,” especially to family, which, admittedly, has dwindled. My close relatives consist of my sister and her family and that’s it. We haven’t spoken to or seen our brother in seven years. That’s a long, friggin’ time. He could be a woman now, for all we know.
My sister is a full decade younger than me. That’s a lot of years, people. She was an “accident” as our parents thought they were done procreating after the blessed arrival of first me, then my brother, four years later.
But, they got frisky on a family trip to Miami and nine months later, my baby sister emerged from our mother’s overwrought womb. (I have no idea how our folks “slipped up,” but hey, it happens.) I only wish they’d fucked up a little sooner.
So, yeah. Ten years is a big gap. Thankfully, it closed somewhat after my sister became an adult and started her own family. She has two sons and a daughter and they’re great kids.
Oddly, though, as the years go by, I’m feeling that gap again. While she’s on the cusp of sixty, I’m…well…I can’t yet articulate it. That should give you an idea of where my head is at.
I realize that at some point, I have to get beyond this or crawl into a hole somewhere and I’m not about to let my husband and cats fend for themselves.
But that said, I need some time. My recent car accident fucked me up mentally and emotionally and I’m not in the headspace to acquiesce to events or situations that I simply cannot handle. Now.
I’ll get to the point. My sister is about to become a grandmother for the first time. Her son and his wife are pregnant. I’m thrilled for all of them. I adore my nephew and all my sister’s kids, but here’s the deal and you can go ahead and judge me as I can take it: I don’t want to attend the baby shower next month. In fact, I’ve already declined.
Perhaps you’re wondering why, unless you’re like me, and “get it.”
Due to life recently hurling a shit-ton of turds my way, I’m not in the greatest frame of mind. And the last thing I want to do is attend a baby shower, with a gaggle of twenty-something women and feel like the old broad in the room. Yes, of course, there will be a couple of more mature gals there, but that said, I’ll probably have a few years on them.
Let me be clear: I don’t think of myself as an old broad, but, if you don’t believe I’ll be virtually invisible to those young chicks, you haven’t been around long enough to experience that particular chill. Even with my snug pants, cool boots and red lips, and not with all younger women, mind you. Just the dumb ones.
While I’m staring into the abyss, I simply cannot spend a day making googly eyes at onesies and diaper bags and all the other baby acoutrements new parents require, with people who have their whole lives ahead of them.
Not now. I simply cannot.
As I said, I’m a shit. But, tough titty. Life, especially now, is too short to engage in any activities that incite misery.
And another thing: I detest showers, of any ilk. Anything that feels like “enforced fun” makes my head spin. The cutesy decorations, the games with questions like, “What do you think the bride would do in the following situation?”
How the fuck could I answer that? I barely know her!
It embarrasses me to say this but I would probably have to have a couple of nips to get through the day. Or, five. And I don’t want to do that. Because that could get ugly and I love my sister too much to fuck up her day. And it is her day, too, as well as the new mom’s to be.
So, I’m not going. I will happily send the nicest gift we can afford and hope that my sister and nephew will not harbor any ill will toward me.
Honestly, people, I hope I get over this funk, because with the holiday season upon us, and all the attendant bullshit, I fear for my sanity. Black Friday. Cyber Monday. Commercials where people gift their loved ones with a Lexus. Junk mail filled with circulars bleating about clearance sales for shit none of us need. And the Food Network! One show after another telling us what to do with holiday dinner leftovers!
Gak.
I admire women of a “certain age” who constantly display good cheer. Easy, breezy women who greet each day with a mantra, a dazzling smile for all who cross their path, and a feeling of anticipation for the day ahead.
How do they do it when everything starts to break down? Their homes, their cars, their bodies? I mean, WTF?
A mental makeover is what I need. I’m going to work on it, while I work on actually finding work so that I can pay for the repairs on my car that insurance won’t cover, as well as the pending repairs for my husband’s car, which crapped out, yesterday and everything else we need for ourselves and our furkids. Like, food.
No. I can’t do a baby shower right now. Maybe the next one.
Diane, if you’re reading this and I hope you’re not, I’m sorry if I disappoint you. Perhaps, in ten years, you’ll understand.
Yep. I’m a shit. And there it is.
© Sherry McGuinn, 2022. All Rights Reserved.
If you can handle it, read every one of my stories and those of other fab Medium writers. I’ll get a couple of shekels and you’ll have full access to this whole joint! https://sherrymcguinn.medium.com/membership Or, fuck it.
And if this story gave you goosies, please check out the ones I’ve conveniently linked to, as well as my newsletter, Sherry Raw.
Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. She is currently pitching her newest screenplay, “The Month We Fell Apart,” a drama with dark, comedic overtones inspired by a true story, as well as “DEAD TIRED,” a female-driven, ass-kicking thriller.