I took The Little Boy to the cafe today and a man who is old enough to be my grandfather called me ma'am. A group of elderly gentlemen was enjoying their morning coffee and chat, and they were blocking much of the sidewalk.
No biggie. I smiled and was about to chirp a cheerful "excuse me," when one of them asked, 'are we in your way, ma'am?'
I can't remember what happened next. I hope I was still smiling and that I said "thank you," but all I was thinking when I rolled up to meet my dad and baby was "fucking scooter, making me look like an old lady! Ma'am. Ma'am!? It's bad enough when I get ma'am'd by a teenage busboy."
Grumble.
The funny thing is that, as long as my gray's are nice and dyed, I actually look much younger than my 39 years.
Showing posts with label aitch. Show all posts
Showing posts with label aitch. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Monday, May 13, 2013
I'm Not Drunk...
I have MS.
That was my line for yeeaaaaars. Run into a wall, "I'm not drunk, I have MS." Stagger into a stranger, "I'm not drunk, I have MS." Fall and end up splayed on the sidewalk after leaving a bar where you've had a drink, one drink, with friends. Well this is awkward, "I'm not drunk, I have MS."
For the better part of a decade I've smiled sweetly and apologized profusely for making an ass out of myself, but I'm all done bending over backwards, sometimes literally, to prove I'm anything other than what I am - someone who has been hobbled by MS.
My myelin's been scarred, my muscles have been weakened and my waist has thickened. Not that I was ever Miss Athletic, but it's now official - I am disabled and I look it. I am a fairly young looking thirty-something, but I have the stamina and strength of a nonagenarian. I mostly get around with my scooter - I call it Jaro, which is also the name for my wheelchair. I have a cane and a walker too.
'Tis a far cry from the twenty-something me who traveled around Europe carrying more than half my body weight in a backpack or who traversed the hills of Berkeley with 50 pounds of books crammed into a book bag.
Yup, things are different, and I'm trying to get to the point where I can say, truthfully, that that's okay.
That was my line for yeeaaaaars. Run into a wall, "I'm not drunk, I have MS." Stagger into a stranger, "I'm not drunk, I have MS." Fall and end up splayed on the sidewalk after leaving a bar where you've had a drink, one drink, with friends. Well this is awkward, "I'm not drunk, I have MS."
For the better part of a decade I've smiled sweetly and apologized profusely for making an ass out of myself, but I'm all done bending over backwards, sometimes literally, to prove I'm anything other than what I am - someone who has been hobbled by MS.
My myelin's been scarred, my muscles have been weakened and my waist has thickened. Not that I was ever Miss Athletic, but it's now official - I am disabled and I look it. I am a fairly young looking thirty-something, but I have the stamina and strength of a nonagenarian. I mostly get around with my scooter - I call it Jaro, which is also the name for my wheelchair. I have a cane and a walker too.
'Tis a far cry from the twenty-something me who traveled around Europe carrying more than half my body weight in a backpack or who traversed the hills of Berkeley with 50 pounds of books crammed into a book bag.
Yup, things are different, and I'm trying to get to the point where I can say, truthfully, that that's okay.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)