The Dork Factor

My daughters would be the first to tell you that I am a dork. (Fred actually suggested that I treat this topic as a mini-series.) When the girls take me to comedy movies, they either sit in the row ahead of me or slink down in their seats when I laugh louder than anyone else there. In Old Navy, the sound system playing "Respect" by Aretha, I energetically chanted "sock-it-to-me, sock-it-to-me, sock-it-to-me" as they ran in the opposite direction. I say excuse me when I run into mannequins. I can't operate the motion-detector towel machines in public bathrooms--I really think there's a Candid Camera crew somewhere in the back, laughing as people frantically wave their arms for a towel to emerge. The toilet I use invariably flushes 3 times while I'm sitting there, and then won't do it when I want it to. I stand at the sink, waiting for the water to come on automatically, and a young woman says "you have to turn on the faucet." What a dork!
Last week I was cheerfully walking to the mailbox and gave a big wave to a male neighbor driving by. Then I looked down and saw that my zipper was down--not just open, but gaping. Yesterday I discovered that I had inadvertently recorded 92 hours of "What Not to Wear"--a show I don't even watch.
Twenty years ago I probably would have been mortified by the dorky things I now do in public. I think that having kids is one thing that helps get us over caring whether other people think we're cool or not. After holding a baby with up-the-back diarrhea while in line at the DMV, or cupping a handful of Teddy Graham vomit as I got out of the car in downtown Mindoro, it's hard to worry about public opinion.
Getting older also contributes to our worrying less that we might look stupid or unattractive. Yesterday I combed every aisle of the grocery store looking for the canvas bag that I thought had fallen off my cart. I probably looked like an idiot, peering around the endcaps and eyeballing other people's carts to see if they had swiped my Wisconsin Badger bag. Hey, it cost $2.50!! I finally gave up and checked out, then found the bag in the truck where I'd left it.
At the last high school reunion I attended, I wore a spandex tummy-flattening undergarment to make myself look thinner. (Fred swears that when I peeled it off later, it ricocheted around the room, nearly decapitating him) I wore it again for a wedding in Madison, and by the time we reached Eau Claire I could hardly breathe. I decided, I've got to be me! I wiggled out of the constricting thing in the front seat of the car, knowing that all the guests would be looking at the bride that day--not my stomach. (I hope that will be true at Erica's wedding, too!) I wear pantyhose with sandals, Fred's shorts when I walk the dogs (because his have pockets), and a pair of reading classes that make me look like Clark Kent. Yes, I'm a dork--but who cares? It reminds me of the poem I used to teach my freshmen, called "Warning" by Jenny Joseph. Part of it says "When I am an old woman I shall wear purple with a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me...I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells...and learn to spit." As we live life, what makes us happy becomes more important than what we think other people want or expect us to be. So be yourself--I won't think you're dorky!!

P.S. A rebuttal from Fred: "Cheryl's Monday blog created quite a stir here at home and in Eau Claire with Paul--Lauri's husband. After consulting him, I brainstormed a female equivalent of the Honey-do List. In an effort to not be sexist, we felt that wives should have a list of chores, too. So I'm coming up with a list for Cheryl to see how she likes it. Maybe now the Honey-Do List won't seem as funny!!"