Now that we moved out of our most recent apartment, I can talk about the pantry. It was kind of totally haunted. I could not get into the matter while I was still living in Apartment D6, because I can freak myself out by thinking about creepy things. There was one time I casually mentioned my sense of a Pantry Ghost to Husband, testing the waters to see what he thought, by saying
Me: So I think our apartment is haunted.
Husband: [big eyes] Yeah, so do I!
Me: What? You’re supposed to deny it. [which is true. He is typical rational when I fly off the handle, but in this case, he actually assisted me off the deep end.]
Husband: It sometimes sounds like there’s someone in the other room but no one else is home but me.
Me: WHAT? Stop talking about this with me. Like right away! Like ten minutes ago! I can’t sleep knowing this!
Husband: But you started it! And the pantry gives me a weird vibe.
Truly, it was a creepy pantry. We had one of our home accidents in it (Twin Son got his finger caught in the door and we had to frantically, incompetently run him to the ER. Seriously, Husband and i are sometimes like the thousand clowns that run out of a Volkswagon Beetle. I don’t understand how we’re actually allowed to have kids some moments.)
And I am like a spiritual atheist, and yet, I shouldn’t even write this post because even though we don’t live there any more, I just gave myself the willies.
Ugh. Alright, good luck to me trying to sleep to night.
My emo once teased me for reading More magazine, the publication for fifty-somethings and above, and I really like it! I like reading about successful women who are older than I am giving me advice and telling their stories! (The only thing worse than people your own age who are more successful is people younger than your age who are more successful… Ha ha…[sob]…ha ha). But it’s not only the AARP-eligible crowd whom I relate to, I also like the teen songstress, Lorde. Have you heard her music? Something about her songs reminds me of what it was like in high school, or maybe it’s just her songs about high school are so relatable.
I really never thought much of this candy, but when I went to summer arts camp, my roommate named ______ [no idea] was obsessed with them and had a gigantic pickle jar full of good and plenties on the shelf over her bed, like an enormous container of Tylenol. At age 16, I was there for poetry, the creative writing segment of camp, and she was there for musical theater. Blond, better with boys, she had about two boyfriends that summer, one of whom was named Walter, from her program, who was a boy with a quasi mullet, but more likely, you’d describe his hair as a sensitive-musician-hair style (long, to the shoulders some layers). The boyfriend was from home, and I believe gave her the giant candy gift when she left. Anyway, Walter REALLY liked her but waited the full eight weeks for her to break up with her hometown boyfriend so that he could present her with a song he named for her called ______ [I truly can’t remember her name], gave her a single red rose, and a container of Good and Plenty. He performed the song at the end-of-camp talent show, and I remember him trembling while performing, and she ran to hug him at the end, and I presume, accepted his offer to be her new boyfriend.
At the time, they were living the epitome of romance and it seemed the whole red rose experience would be forever elusive, as I was relegated to a world of mixed signals and teenagers who seemed far more advanced than I was that summer. It’s funny how your perception of romance changes over time. When you’re a teen, it seems so much about the boy, or the girl. As an adult, particularly as a parent, I see romance as so much a result of what kind of relationship you had with your parents — whether it was good and you want to replicate that warmth and security, or it was bad-news-bears, and you seek to heal what you didn’t get. Anyway, now I eat Good and Plenties and think back on that girl. I didn’t know her well so who knows if she felt what it looked like to the rest of us — perfect.
May the Red Rose be with you.