A Twin Tale: In need of clothes

My twin sister and I are completely opposite. I love the day, she loves the night. I love the outdoors, she loves the indoors. She is creative, I am free-spirited. She is authoritative, I am more go-with-the-flow. She is stylish, I am not.

She has dressed me up for most of our major life events: homecoming, prom, even her own wedding. For her wedding, she organized to have my hair done, she bought my dress, she had it fitted, and put me into it.  Some people PAY for style-support: for someone to dress them. I get this support for free!

When moving back from Australia, I had given away many of my clothes. Not a problem! I shop through Bri’s quality-name-brand closet for free. Most of the clothes in my current closet were at one point my twin sister’s. She is so creative! She quilted me my own purse and has made me a plethora of jewelry

So the other night, I was having a crisis. I received a call for an interview. While researching interview clothes, I realized I have nothing appropriate. I am a 30s woman with a closet full of fun summer dresses, beach outfits, and yoga clothes. This simply does not do for an interview.
I call Brianna in a panic.

“Bri. I need help.” I plead. “I need an outfit for an interview.”

“Don’t you have a suit?” she asks me. She just wants confirmation for what she has already guessed.

“NO! I have pants that are nice, but they are winter pants. And I don’t own an ironing board.”

“I have clothes,” she informs me.
Of course she does. That’s why I called her. “I have the perfect yellow and black top. I know it doesn’t sound that great, but wait till you try it on.” It doesn’t sound great, but she’s my only hope!
Bri never needed a Barbie doll. She has always had me. I show up at her house and she proceeds to dress me up: pin striped pants, yellow and black shirt, black jacket, bracelet, pink belt. I would never have chosen this outfit, but Brianna has a knack for this! I look great!

My interview, on the other hand, doesn’t go as well as my outfit. My only consolation is that at least I look professional.

Worst Dates of All Time: Not Hollywood-Enough

I’m a burger eating, malt drinking, yoga girl.

I love the outdoors. I love exercising. AND I LOVE TO EAT FOOD.

Second Worst Date of All Time:  

This was in college.

I went on a date set up by my twin sister, or so I thought. He tells me he knows my twin sister, so I inaccurately assume she has approved of this match.

He picks me up at my parents’ house in a super charged, mustang with perfectly upholstered leather seats and no indication of trash ever having touched the floor. This is in striking contrast with my very lived-in Subaru. He asks me to take off my high heels so it doesn’t damage his floors. This should have been the moment I got out of the car and exited the date, but I didn’t.

He drives me to a nearby restaurant and is very disappointed with my food selections.

“Usually the women I take out to dinner eat salad,” he states with pride.

“Well, I like pasta.” I tell him. I glance up from the menu and observe his deflated facial expression. He recounts the various dates he has been on with Hollywood movie stars and models. He takes great pleasure in sharing the details of their very appealing physique. All were tall with blonde hair, large breasts, and very slender. He must be very disappointed with my appearance, I consider, as I am short, normal-sized, and have brown hair with brown eyes.

The food arrives. I eat most of it. “Usually the women I take out don’t really eat much,” he advises.

“I like food,” I inform him happily.  The waitress approaches and offers us a dessert menu.

“Usually, the women I take out do not like dessert,” he boasts. I meet the eye gaze of the waitress who by now has obviously put it together that we are on a first date. She shares a look of empathy.

“I love dessert,” I tell him and order the chocolate fudge brownie a la mode.

He drives me home and tells me that he had a lovely time and would like to take me out again. I tell him that I enjoyed dinner and say goodbye.

After the date, I call my twin. “How could you set me up with him?!” I ask her incredulously.

“What do you mean?” she asks completely innocently.

“You know! With “so-and-so”.” I tell her.

“Dara, I didn’t set you up with him.”
“But he told me you did.”

We put it together. He is friends with her ex-boyfriend and apparently it was his not-so-brilliant idea to set me up with him.

My twin reassures me, “I would NEVER have set you up with him. He is so full of himself.”

Throw a cell phone, find a love story

  

Today I woke up and realized I have a significant lack of life accomplishments. This comes the day before my younger cousin’s college graduation, a time full of energy and hope. Today, I am feeling disappointed with myself.  I spend some time contemplating my lack of success while fumbling frustratingly with my cell phone. Internet banking is supposed to be easy, and yet my bank has refused my check deposit for the third time! Perhaps my phone is illustrating the metaphor of my life…trying so hard to make something work that’s not working.  Is it because my technology is older?

I lose it. I envision my phone being flushed down a large toilet. I find myself hurling my phone across the street in front of the path of an oncoming car which, to my disappointment, fails to drive over my offensive phone. I confess: I am not a fan of cell phones. When I go for walks, I have to avoid being walked into by avid texters. When I wait in a car queue to turn left at a light, I prepare myself to miss the light because someone two cars ahead may be busy checking their online social life. I heard the story about the Texas man who sued his date for the price of movie tickets because she was texting during the whole movie. For some reason, people think their bright phone lights are invisible in movie theaters. Personally, I would have taken the phone and turned it off. Then again, what kind of first date is going to a movie? You don’t even get to speak!

The truth is: I was born in the wrong generation…OR I was born to parents of a few generations ago, who value co-presence: REAL communication IN person. What a concept.

I throw my phone and prove that tough cases really are tough. Darn it.

I have unsuccessfully prolonged my phone’s existence.

So much for accomplishments!

I have to teach yoga and I am overwhelmed with self-dissatisfaction. How am I going to teach people when I am this upset, I ponder.

My thoughts are interrupted by a delightful couple of advanced years who come into the yoga studio looking happily out of place in their nicely pressed outfits. Did they take a wrong turn? They are asking about the yoga and are very surprised by the heat. They seem confused by the concept of doing yoga in a hot room.  Their questions seem more a cultural study and less a personal interest in doing the yoga. I am very happy to answer all their questions. “How long have you been doing the yoga?” “15 years,” I tell them. “What, no. That’s not possible. You’re a baby!” they say. I assure them that I’m not and I have older parents. “I would’ve believed 5 years,” says the gentleman, “15? No! You are pulling my leg!” he insists.

They appreciate my slightly archaic references. The gentleman asks me if there is music in the yoga class. I tell him there is not, but sometimes I have sung in class, much to the chagrin of students as my voice is appallingly bad. I tell them about my father who lives in Pasadena and how I changed the lyrics of the Beach Boys song to “My little ol daddy from Pasadena…Go Daddy, Go Daddy, Go Daddy Go” and that my dad says I forgot to include the “they say that there’s nobody meaner than my little ol daddy from Pasadena.” They laughed.

An audience that appreciates my humor?

The gentleman and his lovely wife share with me that they’ve been married for 60 years.
“How did you meet?” I ask.

“We met at the county fair, though nobody believes it. I was holding a panda bear,” he says, “and I looked to the side of it and what do I see?”
I add, “The most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen in your life.”

He says, “You are right!” he smiles. “I’m ten years older than her.” She adds, “I was 16 at the time, and when I met him, I went home and told my mother I met the man I was going to marry.”

60 years of HAPPY marriage later, here they are…lost in a yoga studio.

 I believe they were sent to me to remind me not to get caught up in insignificant issues of life, such as cell phones. I need to be blessed for the love I have. I tell the couple, “If I am with my man in 60 years, I will be in my 90s and he will be in his 100s. That’d be lucky!”

They agree, laugh, and leave the studio.