She’s an executive powerhouse, outspoken and confident, a package of put-togetherness wrapped up effortlessly in presentation, just like the bun at the nape of her neck. Her pedicured feet, finessed by red bottom heels as she paces the length of her glass skyscraper office...click click click...
She's not me.
I'm the one on the other side of the glass pane; I am Girl-Lady.
I'm the one she is witness to on a daily basis, attempting to find some type of amicable existence between maintaining this illusion of social aptitude that supposedly comes with being an adult, while corralling the graceless social existence that is my (oftentimes) self-inflicted awkwardness.
Ah, there goes Girl-Lady now, walking up to a restaurant door to open it...
-But is it a push or a pull door? Girl-Lady slows her pace to survey its structure for a hint, any hint. The goal is to make this appear seamless, just like the other grownups. She should have stayed in the car and watched other people go in, now look where she is. Hands are sweating, and she reaches out to execute her un-turn-back-able choice for a push. She extends her arm out, making contact with the door, and-- Stop.
Abort mission Retreat! Retreat!
Dear God, what am I doing.
Girl-Lady tries to make the whole mess look like one, smooth gesture, as if she was simply bracing her arm to yank the door open. And with a WOOSH, it swings wide and only half-way, as her right foot abruptly stops its path; it doesn't appear to have gotten the memo about changes in mission Open Door. Her body is still traveling with such forward momentum, that she launches herself, forehead-first, into the corner of the door.
Are you okay, Ma'am?
Girl-Lady laughs. Loudly.
And our wholesome and well-to-do woman, from her glass office is reduced to a puddle of clutch-her-pearls, second-hand embarrassment, knowing she can only gaze at situations such as these, with no power to influence or change the case of Girl-Lady.
This is an ode to that classy broad who is forever trapped in this tower of a body, peering out of the lofty office space window that is my view, my reality, surveying my social navigations I find myself in, on a regular basis. Shall we?