1. I was a bridezilla. Only, don’t verify this with any of my sisters as they will surely scoff and politely point out that the bridezilla condition is one that begins and ends with an engagement. (Don’t you believe them.)
2. I have an identical twin sister. Some of you have read about it here before which prompted a few of you to actually accuse me of actually lying about having an actual twin. In my defense, posting a pic of me and claiming it was her is not lying. We are identical, people! Identical! Sheez! However, in order to prove there are two of us out there, I have posted a photo of us together, looking thoroughly identical. As, indeed, we are.
I am the demure, modest one. She is the one with her arm around my shoulders patiently explaining why it is okay for an 18 month old to expose her diaper. How weird that I was so modest at such a young age! How weird that she so well understood what it meant to be a baby when she was just a baby! I blame our four older sisters as they were already in school and well versed in boy-girl relationships and cooties. (And, no, our mother did not let us out of the house with our bodices (bodici?) covered with lint. I blame the age of the picture which is, in fact, so old, it could only have been taken before I was born).
3. I was sure as shootin’ going to be a ballerina and took lessons off and on from age eight until I got engaged (the bridezilla condition does not mix well with ballet steps such as battement and coupe jete en tournant—an innocent bystander innocently commenting on the wisdom of mint green bridesmaid’s dresses could get hurt—very innocently, bien sur). I graciously gave up the idea when I realized dancing on stage involved a goodly amount of time sans underwear. Of any kind. Whatsoever. (My lack of talent had nothing to do with it. At all. Whatsoever.) In spite of this, I sure as shootin’ insisted my little girl take lessons when she was old enough to toddle a la echappe but it was not to be. She quit six weeks after she began, citing some mumbo jumbo along the lines of stage moms and something that sounded a lot like “child abuse”. I can’t be sure what with her speaking to her teacher way out there on the dance floor in that adorable toddlerease, an’ all.
4. My teeth are yellow. Like, reeeaallly yellow. This is why I don’t wear dark lipstick. This is also why I don’t often flash them in photos (except in the one above--true, at 18 months I was old enough to know all about undies and how girls shouldn’t display them but I was shockingly clueless as to the desirability of white teeth). This came about due to a drug overdose. I would blame myself but it was my mother who wielded the spoon full of toxins she poured down my toothless maw when I was only two weeks old. You would think the police would get involved but she was covered by a prescription. (I'm kidding people, kidding! I was sick and needed antibiotics.) As a result, my baby teeth were mostly brown. Shortly after the above photo was taken, I twigged to the fact that brown teeth were not only sad but a bit of a show-stopper. I didn’t smile at all for many, many years after that. (Now, I’m so used to them that when a dentist asks if I would like him to do “something about those teeth” I pretty much just stare at him in acute astonishment.)
5. I have ESP. Well, just a sprinkling of it. I often know who is on the phone when it rings, I walk into the kitchen a few seconds before the oven timer goes off (but only if it’s cookies b/c otherwise, who cares?) and I often dream about a person from whom I haven’t heard in a while the night before they call me out of the blue. This little bit of prescience, coupled with common sense and lots of mommy intuition, has the Big Guy absolutely convinced I have eyes in the back of my head. This is very useful in dealing with a wiser-than-his-years-but-somewhat-demented nineteen year old.
6. I hate feet. I think they are the ugliest part of the body for public consumption. (I was going to clarify but I won’t.) Toes are particularly unappealing (though they have grown on me since this whole toe-nudity fashion thing has been going on). However, my most favorite body part of all time is baby toes. (Ironic! I know!) They look like something that should be in a jar of marinade. I can’t keep them out of my mouth. Until one of my children is old enough to sweat, his/her feet are like a siren call. So soft! So pink! So sweet! This penchant of mine makes my threat of chopping up the toes of the disobedient and sautéing them in butter and garlic for breakfast all the more believable. My kids never know whether to laugh or cry when I say that. (That’s just the way I like it. They’re so much easier to gag and hog-tie when befuddled.)
7. And the seventh thing you don’t know about me is that I have a winner for the Miss Delacourt Speaks Her Mind T-shirt Contest! Yay! Congratulations to Gramee of Gramee’s Porch!
Please keep in mind this photo of your shirt is a mock up and a photo of my computer screen, to boot (in other words, the actual shirt will look much better) (I hope) (and pray) (because I’m righteous like that). Email me at firstname.lastname@example.org with the desired shirt size and your address and this shirt will be on your doorstep ASAP! STAT! and all that. But first, I have to buy the cotton, plant it, harvest it, put it through that cotton gin thing, card it, weave it, worst it, wash it, blow dry it, and make it into a shirt (does anyone know anyone who can sew?) Hey, there’s nothing I won’t do for a fan of Miss D!