It's Written All Over You

“You’ve got success written all over you,” my anthropology teacher said as she pulled my final exam from my cramping, clenched, nerveless fingers. I keep thinking I’ll get a t-shirt with my anthropology teacher’s last words to me on it.

I love college. Nobody complains when you use hefty pretentious words, and think deep thoughts—out loud and in front of people.

Then I go home and the person with whom I have mixed DNA in the blender of love says, “You gonna fire up that stove any time soon?”

And I say, “I did. Last week. You remember.”

So, I’m going to get another t-shirt that says, “I’m too short to cook,” because I am too short to cook, and my face is way too close to the fire, and I get sparks and grease in my eyes, not to mention all the knives that are involved.

I just wish I had success written all over me, all of the time.

Unfortunately, sometimes I have “Help me! I’m boiling!” written all over me; usually in the middle of the night when I’m sneaking around the house to turn the thermostat down to a temperature approximating permafrost to combat the effects of flashes that are hotter than Mercury.

“Linda, we’ve just chosen you the person most likely to be burned at the stake.” I would rather not discuss the individuals who thought I had this sentiment written all over me. I’ll just call them the grand inquisitors in pointy hats crowd.

Once, in a Tae Kwon Do class, and about the time I was feeling swift, strong, and capable, my body an instrument of confident danger in the face of my enemies—also mean people, the lady behind me tapped me on the shoulder. Randomly, I executed a roundhouse kick at the danger fraught empty air next to her face—sort of.

Eyes narrowing at what she might have mistaken for pointless leg flailing, she said, “I’m not sure if you know this or not but you have a dryer sheet stuck to your back.”

She plucked a dryer sheet from the back of my martial arts uniform and handed it to me. I tucked it into my lovely purple belt and practiced more artful flailing at mean people.

So basically, I had “Hey, dork, you have a dryer sheet on your shoulder!” written all over me. I vetoed the t-shirt.

People in my Zumba class have told me that I should get the “Having the most fun” award, and that’s a t-shirt I’m going to invest in, only it’s going to say, “Getting my money’s worth.” When they say bump, I bump. When they say grind, I grind, and sometimes I throw in a poorly executed martial arts kick for old times sake and to see if my hip socket still rotates that far.

Here’s hoping that whatever’s written all over you is inspiring, noble, grand, and true—most of the time.

Linda (Write On!) Zern