Many say social media will be the death of modern society. They say it’s the ultimate conveyance of the art of comparison. I am less than because when I look at everyone’s life on Instagram, they have all the things I do not: the accomplishments, the accolades, the family, the home, the car. Moreover, they are happy. I can tell. The thousand- watt smile is a dead giveaway. That’s where the comparison factor comes into play. My home doesn’t look like theirs. My car isn’t as nice. My family isn’t as large. I rarely smile. The experts say it’s all a sham, some fakery in the bakery. The house and car are courtesy of credit overextension. The perfect family has spread to opposite corners of the too-large home. The smile never quite goes all the way to the eyes. Cracks soon form in the foundation, the stench and rot of bad earth pushing through the barriers. On the outside, though, it looks amazing. And we look, every day, to see what they’re up to, what they bought, where they went. They are perfect, after all. Perception is reality.
No need to worry about any of that in my neck of the woods. With blessings of age, wisdom, and a slew of bad life experiences under our belt, we decided long ago that the system was just as flawed as we were. I stopped pretending to be perfect one sagging neck and a barrel of crow’s feet ago. We are real. We have a modest home full of halfferal cats and dogs with no manners whatsoever. There’s not a stick of furniture that was purchased new. I have a hole in my 115-year-old home’s original wood floor where someone put a stiletto heel through a wood putty plug engineered by a no-good contractor. My solution was to cover it in wood floor-colored duct tape. Yet, the people who grace these walls smile the most beautiful smiles you’ve ever seen. Our days aren’t always perfect, nor do we want you to think they are. Take this past Tuesday, for instance. No, really, take it. It was awful.
My alarm goes off at 6 am. As I mentioned last week, my son and his wife gifted me with a gym membership to thank me for their almost 2 years of residence here. They converted their membership into a family plan so I could come with them. The front desk people said this was the perfect way to add me to the plan. Remember this. It will factor into the theme, later. Then my internal alarm went off. This is Tuesday. On Tuesday, we do Bible study. The gym will have to wait until later.
Next, I feed the four inside cats, unless General Grievous, the inside/outside cat hid in the guest room until I fell asleep. In that case, I find myself feeding five cats. Then, I feed the outside cats, the ones we couldn’t quite socialize. After that, I feed any cat sequestered in the office. Right now, it’s Bonnie, a gorgeous long-haired tortoiseshell we just captured. Another internal alarm went off. Bonnie’s spay day is today. No food for you, Bon Bon.
Make the coffee. Feed the dogs. Get dressed. Clean the litterboxes. Make the bed. Don’t forget the study material. Don’t forget gym clothes. Coffee to go. Water to go. Check my list. Check my phone alarms. Leave. Super simple!
Later, I walked into the gym with a car ponytail, new running shoes, modest makeup, and a weighted vest for walking. This was only my second time solo at the gym. Usually, I’m with the “big kids.” I walked to the desk to scan my fob. It didn’t work. Never has. I went into my song and dance about how my son changed his membership to a family set-up as a gift to me, but my fob still isn’t working. This is usually where they wave me on by. This time, however, a sweet girl tells me she hates that my fob still isn’t working, and she intends to fix this by asking her boss when they plan on activating this device. That’s where the nosedive begins.
Manager: So, I’ve been wanting to talk to you. Me: Me? You have? Manager: Yes, so this isn’t easy to say, but your membership is invalid. The family membership is for parents and children. May I ask how old you are? Me: I don’t think you’re supposed to ask people that. Manager: Well, you’re not under 21. Me: Ouch. We go back and forth. It becomes clear that they think I have fallen on hard times and had to move in with my adult children. Alternatively, they are trying to figure out if I’m cheating the system to avoid a full-price membership. I keep trying to explain that the answer is neither. My son wanted to do something nice for me. A front desk employee suggested the family membership. I am asked to hand over my non-working fob. Instead of rejoining or explaining more clearly, I chose fleeing to my car to cry. Typical me.
Later that night, tending to my recently spayed feral cat, I realized, in horror, that the vet had cut off the tip of her ear. That is standard procedure for feral cats. That way, if a municipality or rescue traps them, the ear clip shows they are loved and fed and feral. But this hadn’t been mentioned before or after the surgery. I forgot to tell them to skip the ear clipping. I felt so bad for this cat, who is turning out to be a total lap baby. Now she’s missing a big chunk of ear. I cried harder. I’m just a gym membership cheating, bad cat mother with ugly furniture and a hole in her floor. But then, I remembered. I am a child of God. Like a velveteen rabbit, I have been so well-loved that some of my shine has fallen off. Perfectly imperfect and deserving of grace, that’s me! So, I gathered my wits, set my alarm for 6 am again, and went and got my own gym membership.
You won’t find us showcasing our perfect lives on Instagram. I’m here to tell you, however, real life over here is pretty darn good, missing ears and all!
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