I may not have seen all the photos from the MuseItUp Meet and Greet in Montreal, but I’ve seen enough. Let me say this about that: my hair tells the story. It drooped, it dripped, it sagged and it flagged.
I’m sure this is because I was not at my best and NOT being a type A personality, it showed. I can rally, but only so much.
Two days before my departure to Montreal, I came down with a bad cold. The following day I took my beloved sweetie-pie, Ellie, cat extraordinairre, to the vet for her checkup and shots. Once at the vet’s and having had enough, Ellie decided to make a break for freedom and used my neck in her panic to escape needles, prodding, and Q-tips. I bled profusely, the vet scurried, and Ellie ultimately leaped into her carrier to safety. The next morning the puncture wounds on my neck were swollen to goiter size, I was running a fever, and feeling miserable. Catch Scratch Fever, here I come!
I thought for sure I would have to bail on the trip but didn’t want to do that. So sniffling with the cold and feverish from the infectious scratches, I went to the doctor for mega-size antibiotics and the okay to go. The doc gave it reluctantly. Ordinarily, I would have gone back to bed, feeling enormously sorry for myself, and sent an email of regret. But I had been looking forward to this trip for nearly 8-months. I hadn’t seen my beloved cousin for nearly 5-years and wanted to meet the publisher, staff and authors who’d turned my life around. I was going to go to Montreal if I had to be carried on board the plane. It almost came to that.
The bottom line is after it’s all said and done, I had a ball. I got to see cousin Gracie, meet some of the Muse authors, plus our leaders, Lea and Litsa. I soldiered through and thought I did well. I was so proud. True, I’m not the kind of person to run for president, unwilling to spend three-years campaigning 18-hour days, but I had risen above.
Then I saw the pics. No matter what, my hair carried my internal drama. And my smile, although sincere, was a little on the wanting side. Let’s not even talk about my double chin, which was so red and enormous I kept whacking it with hands, forks, scarves, and glasses of wine when least expected. It throbbed, simply wasn’t where it belonged, and kept getting in the way.
But I marshaled through. and I’m so glad I did. I am my own trouper. I don’t care if anyone else gets it. I knew what I had to do to be there and I am proud.
Now, all I can ask is everyone throw away all those ghastly photos of me. Except, of course, the ones with the magenta hair and tie, given to me by our darling Karen. Somethings are worth having, no matter what you look like.