IRRITATING

So how does a nice girl like me get so surly on such a lovely spring day?

(bats her thinning lashes)

I mean, I was just sitting there minding my own business, eating an apple with peanut butter. So far, so good. Granted, I had missed my sweat producing, stress-reducing workout this morning. I was all good intentions and black stretchy pants, but my black-clad bottom stayed on the couch a bit too long lingering over coffee and status updates.

So I made up the fictional Lazy Bottom Lounge “where middle-aged women come to drink coffee, laugh it up, and swap aches & pains. And where dust bunnies come to retire. Open most days from whenever I get up till about 4pm. Please call ahead,” posted the aforementioned silliness on Facebook, then went to a friend’s house for fellowship & prayer. She even gave me coffee & a low-fat, whole wheat banana muffin. (She’s a dietitian, you know, and every recipe will have the fat squeezed out before baking! …I love you, Diana!!)

Friends, prayer, coffee, yummies. What a great start to the day! So what happened?

I came home, it was all sunny and warm, and I was lunching on my usual apple snack when I felt this subtle chafing inside, like some sort of attitudinal heartburn. Then time slipped by, again, and I found myself throwing on non-gym clothes and sprucing my wavy day-before-hair that picked up some extra bounce from last night’s pillow perm. “Gah! I look pale and dead!” Blush, blush, blush! A touch more cover up on the dark circles. Throw on my favorite green jean jacket…yada, yada…and I’m off!

Yes, I’m off. In more ways than one. Off kilter. Off balance. In a hurry and secretly wishing that I could stay home at the Lazy Bottom Lounge and be silly in my comfy workout pants, or finally fold the sheets in the other room, put away the laundry from two days ago, and get my bed made before 3. I could even chase a few dust bunnies with the Swiffer that’s been prepped and ready for action since last week or just take a walk in the sunshine.

But I had places to be and people to see and worthy things to do. So I held my tongue and was outwardly fairly patient. Nothing that needed doing was hard. No one I was with was difficult. Yet even the offer of coffee and goodies at the end of the journey didn’t stop the simmer of irritation. This is not the kind of bubbly that gets you a Miss Congeniality award.

Do you ever have days like that where you’re thinking, “What is wrong with me?!”

A. Am I tired?

B. Am I a jerk?

C. Have I been hijacked by mid-life hormones? …or

D. All of the above, so

E. Will someone please just take me some place quiet where I can’t hurt anyone?!

And can I take a nice long nap…until May?

Ah, May. Mid-life is approaching. At least the numerical marker that is the traditional and much joked about top of the hill that you’re now going over. (No pushing!) But surly, and cranky, and tired? Seriously? Being irritated is just, well…irritating! And I’d rather be silly, goofy, or even the butt of some you’re-getting-old joke than “surly.” Surly is for weathered-faced bandits or the mean old hag in some Dickens novel. I might be getting old, but I’m not that old. I’ve just never pictured myself as surly.

I’m pretty much a certified goofball (the only certification I have). I am a klutz in the kitchen (there are witnesses). I love making up silly puns and sillier faces. I speak in various accents whenever appropriate (or inappropriate). And I am prone to pursue laughter (yours and mine) even more passionately than dark chocolate. Cross my “eyes” and hope to die…

Ok, maybe that wasn’t the best choice of words.

All I can say is, this girl is not going down without a fight! Crankiness…be gone! Surliness…get a life! Hormones?! Don’t make me come over there! Don’t make me use my mom voice!

There are some former kids from a youth camp many years ago that can tell you how scary my mom voice is! Ha! Can I get a witness?

Wow. What am I saying? (pause)

Maybe I have been cranky all along. (longer pause)

Now THAT is irritating.