Monday, February 3, 2014

Rocking the Cranky Pants

Today I’d like to discuss my recent favorite item of clothing. Not a sweater or a dress, though I do have a black sweater dress with a flirty, fun hemline I’m dying to wear again soon, but an item of a different tenor.

I refer, of course, to my Cranky Pants.
The spirit of my Cranky Pants
(Image Courtesy of olovedog / FreeDigitalPhotos.net)
Available anywhere humans abound, Cranky Pants come in all shapes and sizes and are universally unflattering. They cause conflict, ruin relationships, and are altogether antithetical to a peaceful existence. And though my outward apparel may change, my Cranky Pants lurk underneath it all like an underbust corset complete with boning and laces.
Had I visited Twitter the other day, I might have warned, “Wearing my Cranky Pants today. Engage at your own risk #notinthemood #leavemealone”

*scribbles on notepad for later use*

Although my Cranky Pants may appear at any moment, this time they surprised me, as other emotions seemed far more likely. Saturday morning, I learned a friend had died Friday night. She and I served together in ministry, and her smiling face appears in many a fond memory from that special season in my life. Yet I did not expect to cry about her death for the entire half-hour children’s show my daughter was watching beside me.

(Sidebar: Someone should invent some sort of opaque shield behind which mommies can hide to cry when they cannot relocate. Quite a challenge to swipe tears and fake smiles when your undaunted four-year-old wants to discuss what Jacob Two-Two is doing.)

News of her passing was additionally troubling as it reminded me of other losses. Cancer stole her life, and any unexpected death-by-cancer feels like losing my Ebony all over again. And thinking of that aforementioned serving season reminds me of someone else I lost not to death but to a decision, a hurtful, unexpected decision which still baffles me years later. 

So we have cause for grief, melancholy, and somber reflection. But my Cranky Pants?

Not that I can see.

Especially when Horace swooped in to swing my emotions to the opposite end of the spectrum about an hour later. With my birthday on the horizon—Sochi will help you mark the date—his attempts to be stealthy were thwarted by an uncooperative mobile site, and he had to reveal his gift so I could order it myself.   

His choice?

Twilight Forever: The 12-Disc Saga.

*pardon me while I hyperventilate*

This is the ultimate gift as I intentionally resisted buying each movie separately because I only wanted to buy them once, and I wanted all the goodies: commentaries, featurettes, deleted scenes, cast interviews, red carpet footage…

*must remember to breathe, must remember to breathe*

And aside from being so reasonably priced, Twilight Forever is a perfect surprise because I had no clue Horace was leaning in that direction. I haven't mentioned the box set since its November release, too focused on completing my Twilight fanfictions-in-progress and resisting the urge to write new ones.

Either way, yesterday brought me a delightful surprise in the midst of my sadness.

See? No reason for Cranky Pants.

Yet I wore them for a good portion of the day and all of last night. And if you squint at today’s outfit, you might still see them.

So what gives?

Well, I realize this is 2014. And the women’s movement has made purposeful, positive strides in the name of gender equality and debunking common stereotypes and misogyny masquerading as “common knowledge.” And I am certainly not trying to speak for womankind at large.

But for this girl on this occasion, the answer can be blamed on nature.
Cycles, specifically.


See, on my wall calendar are these tiny black x-marks over a few dates this week. And when I notice those marks and consider the one I will add today, I cannot ignore the obvious correlation between the marked dates and my recent attire. And though my husband is wise and considerate enough not to point it out, I must be honest.

Thus it is with waning pride and little pleasure that I make the following public service announcement:

My name is Denise, and I am being vexed by the harrowing influence of the Waxing Crescent phase of the current lunar cycle.
Yes, the lunar cycle.

What, were you thinking of a different one? *gasps* You flaming sexist—get off my blog!

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