When I was a small child my mother had a friend named Lee. I can’t quite remember if Lee was a stewardess (this was back before they called them flight attendants) or if she had previously been a stewardess. Hell, she may not have been a stewardess at all. All I am sure about is that I thought Lee was absolutely fabulous. I remember just sitting and watching her, with her dark shiny hair up in a French twist or falling perfectly down her back, wearing red lipstick that seemed to never smear or smudge, her perfectly manicured fingers wrapped around a cigarette being held in a fancy cigarette holder (how exotic was that!). She was tall and thin and in my child’s mind’s eye, she was just perfect. She was always talking about the different places she had visited or had just come back from. In hushed tones I’d hear her talking about her boyfriends to my mother. I would strain to listen, but sadly, never caught any of the really good details. When we’d go visit Lee, her house was perfection. Modern and immaculate with the first in-ground pool I had ever seen someone have that wasn’t in a park or a gym or at a recreation center. She drove a convertible two-seater sports car, of course, and the few times I remember having the privilege of riding with her, I’d just sit in the passenger seat, staring over at her in complete awe. She was my idol.
Now this story takes place when I was still very young. It was a week or two before Christmas, the only time my mom had parties to entertain a few of her friends at our house. My brothers and I were banned to the den or our rooms while the adults were in the living room and kitchen and partied. And even though I wanted, nay, needed to be in there with the adults so badly I could feel it in every fiber of my being, I didn’t dare go. It would had been child-suicide to even attempt to crash one of those parties. That’s what mom told us anyway.
On this particular night, I remember I was sitting on the floor, in my pink pajamas, cross-legged in front of the television. My three brothers were probably in their rooms, I don’t know, all I know is none of them was in the den with me. I had a large bowl of chocolate ice cream in my lap, a treat reserved for occasions when my mother wanted us to shut the fuck up because she wanted us distracted and occupied elsewhere (ie. The Party). I remember distinctly “The Nutcracker” being on the television. I was trying my best to stir my ice cream in the bowl on my lap so it’d turn into a gooey soup of goodness while I watched in wonder at the beautiful ladies up on the tips of their toes twirling about. Suddenly the door to the den opened and I looked up and saw Lee entering the room. She held a small glass of an amber liquid in one hand and a smoking cigarette in a long holder in the other. And even though her walk seemed a little off to me, her hair and makeup were perfect as usual and she was wearing a sparkling dress like the women I had only seen in magazines wear! I took my eyes off the perfect dancing ladies in tutus to watch my perfect idol in her shiny dress. She walked over and stood near me. I saw her focusing her eyes on the television and she said “What are you watching, kid? Ballet?” I looked up and said “Yes, Miss Lee.” because that’s how you properly address your adult idol. I then enthusiastically added “I’m going to be a ballerina one day!” and at that second I knew I really wanted to be a ballerina too. She chuckled, looked down at me, made a ‘tsk’ sound while shaking her head and said “Well that’s not going to ever happen. Ballerinas are thin AND they don’t eat ice cream.” With that she turned and was gone in a flash back to the party, not even caring about the wounded, deflated child left bobbing behind in her soul-crushing wake. I sat in front of the television staring down at the half-melted bowl of ice cream and then back up at the television before me.
And that’s the precise moment I knew. I knew what life held for me. It held ice cream, that’s what it held. Delicious, sweet, creamy ice cream. Because FUCK BEING A BALLERINA WHEN YOU CAN HAVE ICE CREAM!
Now here’s a rendering I made for y’all of that decisive moment in my childhood:43 Comments
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What kind of miserable existence is one’s life without ice cream ?
Wonder what happened to Miss Lee ?
I’ll bet she got caught outside in a 50 MPH wind gust (probably wouldn’t take more than that)….got sucked up in it and was never heard from again.
I bet she got fat!
This is just the sort of uplifting affirmational story we need more of. And I just ended that sentence with a preposition. Oh well.
If your grammar is incorrect- then you belong here.
The fact that you know your sentence ends with a preposition exempts you from scrutiny, Jeffro.
I occasionally end a sentence with a proposition. Sometimes I get slapped. Sometimes not.
I bet you like that too.
Way to go Laura ! Certainly a decision at such a tender age, giving up something for such a vast unknown as ballet, is uncomfortable. However, I recommend all ice cream lovers put on their tutus and slippers now and then for a romp through the house (with or without ice cream under each arm). Ain’t it nice how ice cream AND ballet can exist at the same time on our planet.
Well, I do wear a tiara whilst eating it.
Well, obviously. Tiaras are everyday wear, after all.
They really are.
Henceforth , shall it be known as a “big bowl o’ chocolate shut-the-fuck-up”
HA! Ben & Jerry’s should name an ice cream that!
A childhood story AND a rendering! I have died and gone to heaven!
And Fuck being a ballerina and fuck Lee!
YEAH! FUCK ‘EM ALL!!
You made a wise choice btw
I think so too.
I think you chose the right path. Ballerinas fail to learn survival/gun shooting skills and fuck up their feet. See http://www.buzzfeed.com/donnad/you-should-know-ballerinas-are-more-hardcore-than-you?s=mobile
They will be dead in minutes after the zombies attack. Useless. Although, they might make good Hobo bait in the meanwhile.
Hmmm good hobo bait, bad zombie bait- not enough meat on their bones.
Glad to see reason and ice cream won out.
I can’t imagine what kind of person you would be today without ice cream.
OMG I don’t even dare think about it.
I heard tell one time, on a movie I think, that beauty queens don’t eat ice cream either. HA!
I need a bowl of peppermint ice cream right this min.
I guess I’ll have to give up beauty queening.
You made the right choice, and look at the wonderful life that it brought you, without anorexia and ugly ass feet. Even as a child you had the right perspective on life!
I really did. Also my feet are ugly enough.
Wisdom at such a young age. Wish that was contagious some days. [and some days in epic proportions!]
Ha! I’m going to get the ice cream in my fridge.
I have some Moose Track Ice Cream in my freezer I’ve been eyeing this morning…
If it was 90 degrees warmer, (it’s 10 below), I would totally have some Cherry Garcia, right now!
I can eat ice cream in any weather.
tutu versus homemade vanilla? No contest!!
I know, right?!
Lee fits into the “bunch o bitches” catagory. Maybe your first encounter with said creatures? Ice cream is shunned by bitches (as is every other thing that makes others happy). Fact.
Ha! Last person I allowed to be my idol, besides my mom.
And now you are my idol. Circle of life, yo.
Whoa! You must be drunk or cray cray. Ha!
I hope Lee is fat and her boyfriends are even fatter.I had ballerina slippers when I was about 5 and I would watch channel 12 which you could hardly see but it always had ballerinas. My slippers had wooden toes so it did not hurt to point. My Miss Lee was my sister. Only after she squashed my Dreams she would punch me in the head…… were we sisters?
HAHA! My brothers and I did nothing but try to murder each other when we were children. Sorry, I had no sister so, no.
I’m betting she was lactose intolerant, hated her job and wanted to be a ballerina. People are like that. If they can’t do it, they want to be damned sure they screw it up for somebody else.
YEAH! Ballerina school reject!
She probably wasn’t rejected, but tried to show how badass she was, ate some ice cream, and left some hash marks in her brand new white tutu.
After that, she was too embarrassed to pursue her dancing career.
Hash marks will do that to a career.
The picture is the best part of the story.
Thanks. I guess. Ha!