Advocating for Silliness

I used to be silly when I was skinny. Now I'm more of a fuddy duddy than anything else. But tonight I took a risk and broke out some silly, for old times sake.

As I was running out the door to make it to my kid's baseball game, I was hunting frantically for my non-designer glasses that look sort of like they are designer glasses, but aren't. I bought them to help offset the effects of aging and poor diet. I don't think they made my butt look smaller or bigger, probably a little more along the lines of lip-stick on a pig. The frustration of looking for them was a familiar foe. Defeated once again by good intentions that failed for lack of proper planning.

All I could see were the glittery glasses used by my 9 year old girl as a prop in her skit for the 3rd grade talent show. We bought them, on a Monday afternoon, in a mad dash through Party Galaxy minutes before I was to drive up I-35 to BSF. The glasses were part of a complete ensemble of hippie wig, a rainbow glitter "Cat in the Hat" hat, and another pair of over-the-top sunglasses.

They just laid there, neglected on my desk, wishing their initial potential were remembered. They were so extroverted in such an introverted place: the top of my desk in my rather boring living room. The nurturer and rescuer snatched them up and placed them confidently on my face. Immediately, something deep and dormant started to tingle and bend towards the light of silliness.

Perhaps my decades of epic failures colluded to push aside the person I hoped to be. And silliness seemed to be the anecdote. What better way to address the fear of failing than to dance on its grave with an overt act of silliness?

Getting out of my parked 2002 Avalon, I noticed a mom sitting in the driver's seat of a brand new Buick Enclave. She was wearing Dior sun-glasses. Seconds before, I was peeking through the windows of her back seats to see if there were three rows. Over the weekend, my husband and I were test driving cars with third row seats, habits are hard to break. Realizing the car was occupied, my gaze calmly returned to the sidewalk in front of me just after I registered the Dad-like passenger's strange expression. I'd almost forgotten the prop I was wearing.

Walking to the baseball field quickly became my version of a sociology experiment. Some smiled sort of relieved and entertained. Others didn't notice at all. One business- man-dad wearing what looked like a golf shirt I'd seen in Dillard's for $125, after seeing me approach, scratched his nose and looked the other way. My silly presence was WAY out-side of his comfort zone.

During the game the glasses stayed tucked away, but after the game they helped me tell my 11 year old son, "Good Game". He responded, "Silly glasses."