Got a funny, foul birthday card yesterday from my old pal, Marilea. Granted, my birthday isn't for a month, but I'm not about to tell her that.
I like getting personal mail. Even if its timing is off. And, really, how great is it to celebrate a birthday twice in one year?
A few years ago, a similar thing happened when my library peeps surprised me with a birthday luncheon...two weeks early. In addition to snagging a free meal, what I liked best was that they argued with me about the details of my birth, certain that I was wrong and they were right. As though they were there during that whole messy occasion. Ended up getting another celebratory luncheon from them two weeks later, on the actual date. BONUS!
I doubt that kind of luck will continue, though. One can only confuse librarians so many times until the jig is up.
Sometimes, I think the element of surprise has seeped out of people's lives, a victim of our instant-access, always-in-the-know, 21st-century lifestyles. And what a shame that is.
Maybe it's that element of surprise that leads me to remain out of the loop on so many levels. No cable, no Kindle, no texting...I'm like a 21st-century Maryann on Gilligan's Island. Like Robinson Crusoe, as primitive as can be.
And, frankly, I like it that way.
I relish my ignorance, that glorious absence that makes way for surprise heaped upon surprise. That's why I love it that my friend Laura intentionally didn't tell me about the wickless-candle representative who would be at her FAC last night.
Laura knew I'd probably pass on the party if I realized that I'd have to sniff a dozen candles in order to earn a gin and tonic. And so, she failed to tell me that small fact.
When I opened her front door yesterday and was greeted by the sharply-dressed vendor, pamphlet in hand, I took it all in befuddled, bemused stride, hardly able to keep in the giggles as I nodded in false complicity with this waxy, wickless blonde.
I rather enjoyed that surprise, too.
And it's always nice to be on the other end of surprises. Take Thursday after school, when I wended my way to Ye Olde Shopko, where nothing has ever sold for retail rate. In need of a few more long-sleeved shirts, I made the trek with both speed and plaid on my mind. When I rounded the corner, surrounded by sale-priced shirts on one side and snappy leather purses on the other, I heard someone call out my name.
School friends Cindy and Roxy were there, lustily pawing purses with potential. They called me over to ask me a question I'd never been asked before.
"Which purses should we buy?"
I quickly scanned the area for Alan Fundt, although I knew he was long dead, certain I was being set up for a gag. Alas, they really did want my opinion on purses.
Now, asking me about purses is like asking Sara Palin about constitutional law. I simply never have developed that portion of my brain. I'm a "stuffer." My money's in one pocket, my license in another and my keys in yet a third. When I was in full bloom as a teenager, you'd find me with tampons tucked cleverly in my knee-high socks.
What can I say? I travel light, especially when compared to my more fashionable, better accessorized female friends. Heck, even my male friends have been known to haul around a man bag or two, so I guess I'm just plain out of the fashion loop, regardless of gender.
That ignorance, though, has been a great source of joy and surprise in my life. I love knowing that Cindy buys three or four purses a year. I am fascinated to see how a Blackberry works, although I have no real desire to touch one, unless atop a bowl of Wheaties and coated in a light sprinkling of sugar. I get a kick out of telling people that I don't have a shower--their faces registering both horror and surprise.
In short, my life is a better, more surprising life because I am out of the loop and loving it. Thank God there are people like Marilea, who also--unbeknownst to themselves--are equally out of the loop. I'm loving that, too!
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