Sunday, May 4, 2008

The Doillies

I love intimate gatherings of friends and the conversations that ensue from after midnight in the garages of these people. From some tangent, from one of the most mellow people I know, comes a lesson that bears repeating. Even now, I giggle at the definition. This man, more listener than sharer, starts to tell a story about a party he attended wherein his comfort level was, well, compromised. He begins the story with, "We walked into this house. A bunch of dollies were seated at the table.."
I said, "A what?"
"You know, a doily."
"No, I don't. What's a doily?"

His definition: A doily is one of those uppity ladies that wears matching pant suits with pompom socks that looks down on anyone that is different from them."

Ah, yes, a doily. Psychologically, I'm secretly one of these women (or my ego is). I just don't have the financial resources nor the bloodline to make a legitimate claim to the Sisterhood of the Doily. (I also don't own pompom socks or anything that really matches. Nevertheless..)

Of course, this man, would never know this, nor would ever accept my confession that I was one of them.

Herein lies the irony. There is a secret to the doily....They are scared. I can only speak from my perspective and that facade.

As a child, the only thing abundant in our household was love. I learned quickly that those fancy Girbaud jeans I coveted were not high on the necessity list of my family. At 19, I had my first child and watched "doilies" look down on my youth and this beautiful bald baby that I loved. How dare I flaunt her illegitimacy. At 21, I became an amputee and lost whatever courage I had mustered from my childhood. I had half an arm-what could I do?

Doily is my defense. If I do it to them first, I win.

And so I get to the point. Eleanor Roosevelt said it better, "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."

I'm slowly learning that the very things about myself that I wish to deny, are the very things that make me who I am. Who knew?

I can only imagine that other doilies have some strange inferiority complex stemming from something they've too labeled themselves with. Next time I see one, I'm going to make eye contact, and smile.

I know their secret.

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