I try to convince myself that I am not a delicate female. I'm a feminist. A liberated woman. There are decades, nay, even centuries, between my kerchief-waving, corset-wearing, side-saddle riding, prone to faint and get the vapors ancestors. Right? I do own three aprons. And I like to knit. When I cook a meal for Ben and myself, there is a part of me that flutters when he says, "Mmm, this is good, Courtney." These feminine bits of me I have come to terms with. Perhaps I'm predisposed to like/be good at cooking but I genuinely enjoy it and being able to CHOOSE what I enjoy IS feminism. But it's the things I can't change, or at least have thus far been unable to quell that I can't get past. I'm a blusher. It would be acceptable if I only turned fire engine red when I was embarrassed but it happens all the time. If I am put on the spot by a teacher or have to argue a point in class I can feel the heat pulse from my cheeks. I don't mind answering; I like class discussion, but I hate that the class can see my fuchsia face and might assume that I'm embarrassed. This, triggers only more rushing blood. If I am being reprimanded for anything, my face flushes and, as an added bonus, my eyes start to well up with tears. Usually, if I have always been on good terms with my boss/superior the teary situation is exacerbated. (i.e. Shmunington Shmearning Shmenter) This isn't always on my mind, just when I have a particular bad case of the "girls."
A repairman from TimeWarner cable came to our apartment today to fix our cable box. I drove out to Mesquite yesterday to get a replacement box because the alternative was to wait two weeks for a repairman to come to our door. Well, we plugged it in and the signal was not going through so we call customer service. Whatever "guidance" they offered on the phone was insufficient so we made an appointment for today. Frustration #1: Why the hell would they say it takes two weeks and when we call to have it checked, a next day slot is suddenly available? Frustration #2: Although we SPECIFICALLY told the technician to call my number, he calls Jeff (who is at work, thus not at home) and says because there is no available parking he is leaving and will see if he has time later to come back. Frustration #4: Obviously annoyed, his response to my friendly "Hi, thanks so much for coming out!" when I let him in the front door is "Yeah, I hope you got it plugged in right or this is fifty bucks." Frustration #5: Upon his discovery of the cable box he says, "Oh, well lookie here. This is plugged in wrong. Surprise. Surprise." Frustration #6: When I tried to ask him why customer service would not ask if we had it plugged in correctly (because they ask if it is plugged in and obviously assume, correctly, that we know very little about cable boxes) he cut me off and spat, "You pick up the box and you assume all liability." Frustration #7: I snapped a favorite rubber hair band in half I was so angry. Frustration #8: His parting words were, "Next time, let us do this so we don't have to deal with all this."
Jack. Ass.
But the most frustrating part about my encounter with the cableman was that I actually got my feelings hurt and cried. Yes, I cried. I couldn't help it. Big, salty globs all over my red cheeks. I have always been resentful for being made this way. Why couldn't I have thicker skin? Writing this now, I feel puerile for being so upset, but this is who I am and I'm stuck with me. Getting ready to embark into my marriage, I am learning to appreciate the differences between Ben and me. He's teaching me to be more thoughtful and aware of my surroundings, to be more productive and timely, and to refuse to let anyone else take responsibility for my choices/life course. He molds me by simply being Ben. His inherent qualities mimic my numerous deficiencies and visa versa. I'm glad that he is different than I. Reluctantly, I am learning to accept who I am.
I am a girl. A girl that cries.
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