"She Can't Help It, The Girl Can't Help It"*

Today I backhanded a tennis ball across the court to my husband. We'd been playing for almost two hours without incident. Incident meaning me getting hit by a ball.

In fact, he had just commented (the dear) that,

"Hey, you haven't been hit by a ball!"

I merely muttered, "Please don't go saying things like that before we're finished playing."

So I had quite nicely hit the ball over to his side when he whacked it back and it headed straight for my chest. No bounce, just straight towards me. I instintively stuck my hand out, which did, effectively stop the ball. It really hurt though and I wanted to throw the racquet.

Now, I realize that getting hit with a tennis ball (hard) isn't necessarily out of the ordinary, but if you're thinking that, then perhaps you don't know me too well.

I am, for lack of a better word, clumsy. So much so, that Drew the other day whacked his leg against some concrete and thought to himself that he just "Pulled an Adri." Wow. All I can say is that the man is lucky I'm in love with him.

I drop things, a lot. Primarily kitchen utensils (the sharper the better, right?), markers while teaching and Drew's favorite, M&M's while filling up the dispenser.

I hit my shin on the bathtub at least once a week. The bathtub doesn't change, I should know through conditioning to raise my leg higher.

I constantly stub my toes. Walls, table legs, other people's feet. Once I even ran the vacuum cleaner over my big toe.

I get stepped on quite frequently. Yes, stepped on. In line by adults, at school by children. Of course I usually have flip-flops of peep-toes on at these moments.

If something can be slammed shut, I will do it. Not because I actually SLAM it shut, but moreso because it just...seems...to...slip out of my hand...really quickly, making a loud noise.

If I am bent over, picking something up and there is a sharp corner anywhere in the vicinity, my head will find it.

Flip flops + me + any moisture at ALL = recipe for disaster.

And let's not forget that I get hit by flying objects...more than the average person should. Frisbee during a picnic in the park, soccer ball simply walking by, multiple dodge balls to the thigh just passing, tennis ball in the hand, and my personal favorite, a fly ball at an Aggie baseball game. The ball came soaring towards me as I thought, "Surely it won't hit me?" Well, as my, then boyfriend, ducked and covered, I was hit square in the chest, sending my popcorn flying through the air. Upon recovering from having the wind knocked out of me, I picked the ball up out of my lap and received applause from those around me.

I kept the ball.

Is this all because I'm not paying enough attention? Because of some random genetic wiring? Because I'm left handed?

Who knows.

I just know I want to stop getting hit by things.

*The title is pulled from Fergie's song, "Clumsy" off of the album, The Duchess.

Would You Like My ID With That?

Let's talk about looking your age.

It is a general and widely held belief that it is a "bad" thing to look your age. Women everywhere start slapping on eye cream before they even graduate from college and Botox injections coupled with a whole host of surgical procedures are rapidly on the rise.

American women do everything within their power to NOT look their age; to hold on as long as possible to youth and vitality.

So what's a girl to do when she has the opposite problem?

I look much younger than my actual age, and yes, Virginia, that IS a problem.

If I had a dollar for everytime someone said, "Oh, but think how great you'll look when you're 50!" Then I could quit my job now and join the ranks of the independently wealthy.

I'm sure they are right.

I do believe that at some point, I will LOVE looking a good ten years younger than I actually am.

But for now I do not love it.

Maybe it's my imagination (I highly doubt it), but there are all sorts of problems associated with my issue. Namely, lack of respect.

I feel that because of my younger-looking status (coupled with my small frame), that even though people know I'm an adult, there is still a subconscious part of them that simply doesn't view me as one. This makes sense. There is a disparity between what they know and what they see in front of them. Alas, not much I can do about that.

What is one supposed to do, though, when they want to be seen as a professional but are really just seen as someone who looks like a high schooler?

Dressing professionally helps some.

This is the only thing I can think of that has.

Anyone else have this problem?

Personal Anecdote Time:

"I'm going to need to see your ID." Said with a disapproving, "I'm about to bust this chick" look.

"Ok, here's your library card application. And we need parental permission forms for everyone under 18."

"You put your age range as 17-27? Oh, you soo should have started with 14...you're totally a believable 14 year old." Said by random guy when I signed up to be an extra.

"What are you studying in college?"

"Are you here for freshman orientation?"

"What? YOU'RE the teacher? But...you CAN'T be the teacher." Nervous laughter. "You look so YOUNG!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were a student."

"Oh, I thought you were a student. I was going to have to remind you there is NO cutting in line."

"Sweetie, you're gonna need to go back and get your teacher's copier code before we can let you use the copy machine."

"Where's your hall pass?!" Stares at me and sees ID badge. "Oh, um, I'm sorry, nevermind."

"Mrs. Davis? Are you still in high school?" I tell them no. They lean over and whisper, "See, I told you she wasn't still in high school!"

"Are you lost honey?" Gets a good look. "OH, whoa, Ms. Lindsey, I'm sorry...I definitely thought you were a lost kid."

"What I wouldn't give to look ten years younger..."

Arrggg.

What's In A Name?

I love my name. I really do. It's just...been a difficult name to have.

Apparently Adrienne is a guy's name (according to many people).

Apparently Lee (my middle name) is a guy's name (according to many people).

Apparently Lindsey is a first name.

Thankfully Davis has no real issues (except for being spelt David on occasion).

Whenever I meet people they NEVER understand what I say my name is and invariably mispronounce it back to me so many times that by the third or fourth correction I usually get frustrated and/or embarrassed and just nod my head like they got it right.

One of my professors actually argued with me on how to pronounce my own name once. He seemed to think it was Adri-ANNE.

It's not.

Don't even get me started on going to Starbucks & giving them my name for my cup. It's so bad I don't even give them Adrienne anymore. I just say "Lindsey" or "A." It's easier and not really a lie.

Which reminds me...for YEARS before I added Davis onto my last name Lindsey could be quite the problem as well. I have had countless conversations which go something like this:

"Last name please."

"Lindsey."

"No, no, hon. Your last name."

"Lindsey."

"Ma'am, I don't need your first name, I need your last name."

"My last name is Lindsey."

"Your last name is Lindsey?" Asked with a hint of suspicion.

"Yes. Lindsey. L-I-N-D-S-E-Y."

Just once I wanted to say, "Oh, I"m so sorry, you're RIGHT. That's NOT my last name."


This week at a teacher training we all had to do a reflection on our own name after reading a snippet from Sandra Cisneros called "My Name."

Here is mine.

Dear World,

No. My parents were not obssessed with "Rocky."
No. My name isn't Audrey or Adri-ANNE or Audrine.
No. My name isn't two syllables.
No. My name isn't a man's name!

Yes. My mom saw it on a tax form and thought it was pretty.
Yes. It's pronounced AY-dree-uhn. Three syllables. Count 'em third grade reading teacher.
Yes. It is spelled A-D-R-I-E-N-N-E. The "e" is silent and the spelling is feminine and French.

Maybe that's the problem.
A French name pronounced in English.

Please get it right people.

Sincerely,
"Ah-dree-EHN"

http://inogolo.com/pronunciation/Adrienne

Link to the English & French pronounciations of my name, the latter being how I signed my letter to the world.