Three things I miss- Larry, Moe, and Curly
I miss the youthful, ignorant Inner Stooges who helped me be rather risky, crazy, and fun-loving. They gave me a mythical belief that I am invincible. I can do it all and have a riotous time in the process.
I miss Moe. Moe would say, “Nothing bad ever happens to me. I know I should not be having this second shot of tequila, but it will all be ok in the morning because I am so massively smart. I will just skip American Lit. So what if I make a B? I know I should be taking advanced biology, but the easy ‘A’ in psychology will help my GPA. And a ‘B’ average is plenty good enough in liberal arts. Especially if you do not have to really work for it. ”
Larry was always yammering “Go ahead. Stay up all night writing that paper. Or now that I think about it, don’t! It won’t matter that much later, but instead go ahead and decorate for Christmas. Climb up on the roof edge and string the Christmas lights now. Plug ‘em in first. Or start a new project. Pull out all your art supplies right this second, wash your brushes, then put the brushes in a nice tin can and start the painting. Leave the decorations in the corner until you need them. And tomorrow, go adopt a rescue kitty.”
Curly would tell me, “Ritz crackers dipped in blue cheese dressing counts as the main course for supper. Four Little Debbies is fine if you drink milk with it. Chase that with some black olives and celery with pimento cheese as a palate cleanser.” Curly really did not know the concept of palate cleanser. That is totally a manufactured memory. The voiceinmyhead likes pointing out Curly was none too bright.
I think the Three Stooges helped me seize fun and ignore responsibility years ago. My Three Stooges are in hiding. Or at least locked in the closet for the last few months since they can be such an embarrassment.
This weekend I am going out with the Mint Julep Queens even though I have tons of to do and am exhausted from being an adult all the darn time time. I mean it. All the darn time. Working, parenting, wife-ing. Is Wife-ing a word? It should be. Anyone who is or has been a wife knows what I mean. Although part of me is wishing I could put on warm jammies, watch Cary Grant movies, and not talk to anybody for a couple of hours on Saturday night. A larger part of me knows that if I put on a rhinestone tiara. I will have fun. That Larger part is my inner Curly. If I put on green chiffon and huge-ass petti-coat I will flounce about like a young girl again, right Larry? If I wear my glitter eye liner and Dior Rouge lipstick I will take a good photo and look more like a Royal Character. Ok with you, Moe? If I just show up, ready to play, I will have an adventure.
Somebody will smile and laugh and feel joy that they too are a Queen in their heart of hearts. Somebody will do a Queen’s wave and clap. A little girl will approach and have her mom take a picture with the Queens after she is given a tiara of her very own. Which reminds me, I need to go shopping for that. Maybe somebody recovering from chemo will be out on their birthday and the MJQs will serenade them with a special Happy Birthday song. It has happened.
I have so much pushing on me to do, I do not have time or energy to go out-n-about acting all outlandish. Every lady I know is in the same boat. But making a memory and being kid again is my priority for exactly five hours this weekend. I will listen to the clamoring of the Stooges. I will let them out of the closet. If we all set aside a few hours every few months or so to just be a kids again, celebrate being alive, and be a tad bit silly– the world would be better place. Or at least it would be more slap-stick and not so downright mean, which does not sound too bad right about now.
What about Shemp? He got left out. Don’t worry. Shemp is doing my shopping for childrens’ Royal Trinkets.