January 31 – My Name is Not Susan

It is a sad day. I have to say goodbye to a cherished old friend. No, not the woman sitting next to me in the picture, though she is a cherished old friend. I’ve not seen her and her Princess Leia hairdo since the IWWG conference where the picture was taken three summers ago. We actually met at the Amtrak station in 2002 when we were both on our way to our very first conference given by the International Women’s Writing Guild. The Guild had been around for more than a quarter of a century by that time, and my friend has attended every year since 2002 except last, and I have skipped a few due to the various changes it has gone through. We’re hopeful about this year though.

No it is not my friend, nor the Guild that I am sad to part with, as there is no parting. I am mourning the departure of my yellow hoodie. It is, or was, the perfect shade of yellow, just the right weight and so comfortable to wear out to breakfast at a writers’ conference. I even wore it on a date once with nothing but a black bra underneath (it was not our first date). Like all hoodies, except if you’re a guy, it reached that point for which it was no longer presentable outside of the home. No worries though, as it took its place as my favorite thing to climb into when I got home from work. I exercised in it and quite often would often fall asleep in it. Of course it became dingier and dingier and no matter how many times I would wash it, soaking it in the sink in detergent containing bleach, it would not get clean. The end of the sleeves and the piping around the zipper and pockets were permanently dirty and those dirty sleeves were also getting frayed, mostly from too much rough play with Max. I couldn’t even keep them pushed up anymore they were so stretched out. It was no longer presentable inside the home either, and I just had to throw it away. I couldn’t bear to see it in one of Max’s many boxes, for him to snuggle into, as has been the fate of some worn out sweaters. No it simply had to go, go from the apartment as well as from my sight and my body. It will always be appreciated for its faithful service over the years.

I have registered for the Writer’s Digest annual conference for this summer, just a few moments ago in fact to take advantage of the lowest rate, and hopefully the Guild will get their act together and present the kind of conference they used to, or at least something close to it. I hope to have an equally adorable hoodie for both.

Btw – As my workout routine now routinely includes the EnVogue CD, the words to their collaborative effort with Salt-n-Pepa on “What a Man,” a cute, fun song, as I mentioned last week, make me question the standards that S&P’s Spinderella has for her man. “And yes it’s me that he’s always choosin’, With him I’m never losin’, and he knows that my name is not Susan.” Really, that deserves high praise? First of all, the preceding line “He’s got me open like a Seven Eleven” is perplexing. I don’t want to be open like a Seven Eleven, do you? And then, this guy gets lauded for knowing what her name is not. “Uhhh, don’t tell me now – I know it’s NOT Susan.” What a man. He must really love her. Spinderella’s name is Deidre. Now we all know it’s not Susan.