When Did I Become HER?!? (of Men, Unintentional Polygamy and a Whole Lot of WTF?)

Quick story.
OK so, I was getting dressed for my son-in-law's graduation from law school.
I was in full on Main Line Mom Mode.
Calvin Klein navy sheath dress: Check.
Pumps: Check.
Pearls: Check
Poker straight blowout: Check
Kenneth Cole clutch: Check
I looked in the mirror and thought: "Who in holy, blazing hell is THAT???"
My mother. That's who that is.
Not me. Never me. I'm a tree hugging, hippy-dippy, incense burning, yoga-loving, we-are-our-brother's-keeper, artistic, liberal-independent (ok I voted for Reagan once upon a time, but it was my first time and everyone was doing it!)

It startled me.
I got to thinking. "No, that country club princess is me too." She's in there.

And so is the glamazon, sex goddess of stage and screen. She shares quarters with the super-nerdy history buff who can tell you more about ancient religious customs than you ever wanted to hear. Like, EVER. They live right down the hall from the hard working single mom, who doesn't have time to bake cookies for the bakesale because she's got two god damned jobs, so will you just give her five minutes of quiet, please?!? Right next door is the girl who just wants to sing with the band and dance all night and stumble in at four in the morning with tired feet and a head full of adventurous stories to tell. She likes to have breakfast with the domestic goddess who loves to cook and will feed you until you are fit to burst (and make you a Tupperware of leftovers to take home, because you never know, you might want a nibble later.) She takes care of everyone, especially adventure girl, who does things like ziplining down volcanoes in Costa Rica and running off to Paris for her BFF's 50th birthday. And they all sit down at the table with Writer Chick to sort it all out.
They're all in there. In me. Along with multiple others.


No wonder the poor men in my life have been confused. They were involved in a polygamous relationship without their knowledge. Feel bad for those guys.
Because all of those women, in greater or lesser degrees, require acknowledgement. The biggest relationship fails I've had- and there have been a few - have been because the person with whom I was relating kept trying to fit me in to a category. A box. A pigeon hole. It's suffocating and then I am forced to flee. I have no choice. There is no oxygen in there.
When I've met someone who 'gets' my gypsy soul, (there have been exactly two), despite great love, or at least the potential for artistic power-couplehood, they end up having a gypsy soul of their very own and can't stay. (annnnnd cue broken heart....or at least bruised heart).

My father, who was the smartest human I've ever met, once told me "Tootsie, in relationships you need a string and a kite. If you have two strings they just lay on the ground and no one flies. If you have two kites, they both fly off into space and get lost. But when you have a kite and a string, the string holds the kite steady and the kite lifts the string as far in the air as the string lets it. And thank God for your mother because she's my string. Get yourself a string, TootsiePop. You are a kite."
He wasn't wrong. He got me.
 

 


If I ever find someone who gets me like that....I'll love him so hard his head will spin.
And he'll never be bored.
Ever.