I actually made this comment to a friend today in an email I sent her. It was in response to me initially saying I wished I was Oprah. I had a massage scheduled for after work and was so looking forward to it but only wished that after said massage I could be swaddled like a baby and transported home to my couch in an empty house with a hot meal, complete with dessert, was waiting for me.
Is that too much to ask? I don’t think so! I knew what would happen. I would come out of there like I had spent the day in an opium den…staggery, blurry eyed, and weak at the knees. No, nothing untoward is happening at the spa, I just enjoy a good massage! And then I’d drive myself home and be greeted by a plethora of testosterone bearers and furry four legged friends. And my relaxation would not be paramount in any of their minds. I’m the Mom! I’m here to do the Mom things. Find things, wash things, find things again while yelling “Is your penis in your eyes?!” And then wash some more things. Vacuum something. It’s all so glamourous!
For the record, “penis in your eyes” is a term of endearment I created a few years ago when it seemed everyone but me in this house was incapable of finding ANYTHING. It could literally be two feet in front of their faces and still they couldn’t see it. The difference between them and me? Just one major one…a penis. Or lack thereof. Anyway, I digress.
So I staggered out of my massage. The first few minutes of my massage I seriously questioned my choices. She immediately started working on my hip/glutes to address my knee pain. She immediately ascertained that my IT bands are very tight. I immediately wanted to throat punch her, or cry, or get up and leave. It hurt!!! But I hung in there and it was well worth it! I was a mushy relaxed mess when I left. I came home to my house. My house filled with the male species. My house filled with four legged animals prone to shedding. My house that is like every other house in that it’s lived in and not really all that peaceful.
I feel like Oprah’s house is peaceful.
I feel like if Oprah wants a massage someone comes to her house and gives her a massage. Or if she does go out, someone drives her there.
And then? Someone makes whatever the hell Oprah wants and if necessary and she asks, swaddles her like a baby and feeds it to her.
Ahh, to be Oprah.
Except maybe, just maybe, Oprah wants to be me. Maybe Oprah wants to come home to chaos and people and pets all clamouring for her attention and needing her to run their lives. Maybe Oprah wants to sit on the couch and watch Amazing Race with her family and secretly enjoy how much her family enjoys the irrational rage she demonstrates towards people she doesn’t know on what is basically a game show….
I’ll never know. And in the grand scheme of things I think I’d rather be me anyway. Except if Oprah wants to throw a few dollars my way, and like some new appliances, I wouldn’t say no…
I am the Queen of Negativity. No joke. It takes work, every day, and I’m not always successful, on seeing the positive in my life. And there are so many! But I, like I’m sure so many of us, get caught up in what’s wrong, a little of poor me, and trying to keep up with the Joneses.
For now, take a few seconds and Oprah it up. Think of three things you are grateful for. I don’t care if it’s the fact that you are in your pyjamas drinking a glass of wine, cup of tea, or indulging in some ice cream after the kids are in bed! Or if you love your job or you hate your job but love your co-workers! Or if you have tomorrow off or if your boss has tomorrow off…whatever it takes people, find something good! And then? Comment below and let’s share a little positivity!