people who work with me in the downtown offices of Toronto
are nice enough. But I just don't see myself completely becoming
a part of their high-falutin' corporate world. These "Things"
were pretty much foreign to me until I started working in
a downtown tower.
A: The Tiffany item-of-the-moment.
year ago it was the "Return to Tiffany" sterling
silver necklace or bracelet. This year it seems to be the
Tiffany beaded bracelet or Tiffany Elsa Peretti® open
heart pendant. Every third woman seems to have one of these
items of jewellery.
get me wrong — I like jewellery. It's nice 'n shiny.
Looks pretty. But these Tiffany things are simply a "look
what my husband/boyfriend/career bought me... and baby I'm
so worth it" baubles. Every pussy-whipped dude in a
suit is buying his gal one of these things, and he's getting
laid because he brought her something in a little blue box.
I think these women like the fact that it's a signature
Tiffany piece, because that will mean every other woman
will know she got something from the exclusive boutique
on Bloor. It's not what it looks like, it's about where
it came from.
B: The spa day.
have heard many times the virtues of a spa day. Seems there's
few things more indulgent in these women's lives than to
sit around and have other people attend to their egos and
epidermis by slathering, scrubbing, rubbing, scraping, massaging
and filing away at parts of their bodies.
not all that comfortable with physical contact with strangers,
let alone most people I know. I don't like bumping people
in elevators, accidentally nudging people in line, getting
a physical pat on the back or arm, and such. In fact, if
we've made bodily contact, and it wasn't obliged by societal
standards (ex: hugging a relative good-bye), you should
consider yourself honoured.
also not good with just sitting in one place and doing nothing.
I get restless watching TV. I'm not good at lying by the
pool or sitting in the bar.
the thought of having a complete stranger dabbing mashed
avocado on my face so I can sit immobilized for a fifteen
minutes... it gives me the willies.
never had a pedicure or manicure. I have had waxing done
a few times, but the results were either inconsistent, incomplete,
or bruised me. Yeah, giant nasty-ass bruises right at my
crotch... THAT's what I want to show the good people of
Playa Del Carmen. I'm sure they'll think it's the esthetician.
Even if I strike a "who cares what others think"
attitude, John doesn't need evidence that other people have
recently been that athletically involved around my fiddly-bits.
C: The power 'do.
I'll admit to getting into the habit of straightening my
hair for work. And I will also admit to having it coloured
ever-so-subtly twice. The straightening now is because my
hair has been doing its own thing lately... fine for the
weekends, but not so great when you may have to talk to
a VP or the CMO of the bank. So I try to make sure I don't
look like weekend-me.
some of these women are crazy about their hair. They get
it highlighted on a bimonthly basis. They form lasting relationships
with hairdressers and colourists. They get their hair done
during multiple-hour lunches and will miss important meetings
because they're having a colour crisis.
everyone could just take it down a notch, I know it would
make me feel just a little more comfortable about my occassional
bad hair day.
D: The "gym".
go through cycles where I enjoy working out. (Enjoy in the
sense that I find it therapeutic and without it I would
possibly go on a homicidal rampage.) But ever since I had
to undress in front of my classmates in Grade 7, I've hated
the idea of working out in a group.
know I have some areas for improvement. I know my half the
time I look like I'm about to fall over. I know my face
goes beet red when I exert myself beyond opening a jar of
spaghetti sauce. I don't need to share common space with
strangers, or possibly co-workers, who look at me with concern
and say "You okay?" I don't need to spend more
than a donut-a-day for a health club membership. Frankly
I'd rather have the donut.
so much guilt and self-righteousness wrapped up in whether
someone does or doesn't go to the gym. Guess what: That
half hour of running isn't going to work off two hours of
drinking. Get over the guilt, take the stairs once in a
while, and either buy a girdle or cut out the weekly martini
E: The "help".
cleaning ladies, dog walkers and nannies. They blow my freakin'
I have a hard enough time calling the plumber for anything
other than when our well pump goes out. I'd love someone
to clean the house for me, but I simply don't want strangers
in my house when I'm not here. I don't want to have to worry
about locking up my "private things". (You wanna
know what they are? Not tellin'... that's what makes them
know if I was a housekeeper, I'd snoop. Especially if someone
said "just clean the downstairs." Quite frankly
I don't want to think twice about where I leave my tiddly-winks.
I don't need the stress of "gotta tidy because the
cleaning lady is coming tomorrow".
nannies are the people that really freak me though. My co-workers
somehow earn enough to pay for another adult person to live
— and that's on top of the money they need to pay
for the x# of kids and the xxx# of toys for themselves and
their kids. I just can't wrap my head around it.
suppose it's guilt really. I'd feel way too guilty to pay
someone jack-squat-all to do something I could do myself.
some of the things above are things I think I should give
a try, if for no other reason than to enrich my life. I'm
considering them for Kathleen Improvement 2006©.
Perhaps I'd enjoy a hot stone massage. It has been waaaay
too long since I got my hair cut, so perhaps I'm overdo for
a new 'do. And maybe, just maybe, I can try locking up my
private things and see how the other half gets their houses
clean. But personally, I'd rather just take all that dough
and put it toward something that will set us free, like eradicating