I saw the perfect man today.
He was small, maybe even lean. His pock-marked face was framed by flat, brown, seventh-grade feathered back hair. He was wearing dark khakis with a boring navy and brown striped button down. He was slight of build. But most notably he was whistling through his teeth while he waited to pay for his coffee.
I’m not kidding, he was whistling through his teeth. His lips weren’t puckered, blowing out, the way I sometimes see Deaglan trying to whistle. His tongue was stuck up in the roof of his mouth. His top lip was stretched over his top teeth, and a low tuneless melody escaped; all the while his black eyes darted from one thing to the next.
He was perfect.
And I considered seriously, for a few minutes, contacting Dexter’s people to let them know I’d found their next villain. Maybe not a high profile axe murderer, but he could certainly make a compelling neighbourhood stalker-type.
Clearly, I need to stop with my Netflix preoccupation. And it wouldn’t hurt to ease up on how often I check into my Facebook account each evening either.
Last week at a funeral, I saw an old friend who I hadn’t spoken to since Matthew’s funeral. We hugged and confirmed that we needed to stop meeting this way. After that, we had very little to say to each other. We joked that that there was no need to ask about how the other was doing; we already knew.
She’s one of my Facebook friends.
On the one hand I rarely feel the need to call anybody anymore, which works out well these days since my boys turn into home-wrecking maniacs anytime I’m on the phone. People know how we’re doing by reading my blog and I know how they’re doing by paying attention to their Facebook updates. It’s all very handy.
I wonder though about the long-term effects. Where are we really going with all this?
Oh don’t get me wrong, nothing delights me more than the perfect outfit pin, or a 30-second video of somebody’s baby walking for the first time or a cost-effective bathroom renovation. I can’t get enough of that kind of thing.
It’s the pressure Facebook, Pinterest and personal blogs seem to put on us:
To be happy
To post the perfect picture of ourselves
To get more DIY
To present a pin-worthy, photo-shopped, all is joyous in our house version of ourselves.
This is what has me wondering. And worrying a little.
But maybe it’s just me.
Maybe I just wish I could make my kids a birthday banner from recycled orange juice cartons, do a triathlon before 9 am and announce to the world that with no provocation whatsoever, my husband booked me into a spa for the day while he organized our linen cupboard and did crafts with the kids.
These are my birthday flowers from Shaune and the boys. Deaglan said he picked them out because he just knew they were my favourite. After watching his eyes sparkle while he told me this, these easily are my favourite flowers.
My friend Shannon came by last Saturday morning with these beauties, balloons and a new monogrammed coffee cup.