Something sweet

Mar 16, 2022

The chocolate bunny

It had been a challenging day. To skip past details that would really only be interesting if you worked in my office, I’ll say that I’d suddenly come to be the new owner of a few responsibilities. I was really renting them, as they would eventually (and not a moment too soon) be off my plate. But today, they were mine to handle.

The personalities involved, mixed with the recent removal of the mask mandate and the angst that had been brewing at the thought of this conversation, led me to go through something I hadn’t in a long time. I was blushing. I had hives. I was stressed beyond measure. I was suddenly in sixth grade again, standing at the front of the class.

To back up a little, I was deeply shy as a child, and part of that shyness was a crippling fear of public speaking. But, as you must when you’re a child and a student, I was forced to face this fear a few times a year. At the start of a school year, I would listen intently and flip through my syllabus, hoping to not hear nor see the word ‘presentation.’ Inevitably, there would be a class that required this, and I would blush at the thought alone. Well, in Mrs. Dudley’s sixth grade math class, I attempted to face this challenge head on. We were meant to sit down with one of our parents and explain the math that they did in their job. My dad’s job requires quite a bit, so he and I worked together on the project. He, too, had a fear of public speaking, so not only did we talk about math, but he also comforted me and gave me strategies to get through the presentation. The day arrived, and I remember being so worried that I was going to blush I could hardly talk to anyone on the bus ride to school. I vividly remember sitting at my desk on the far side of the room, right in front of the windows and the cool breeze that I hoped would keep me calm. For some reason I picture myself in a red shirt, but that can’t be right; I would never wear red for fear of someone comparing the color of my cheeks to the shirt on my back.

I nervously fidgeted through everyone’s presentations until my name was called. When it was, I took deep, but subtle, breaths as I propped my poster on the easel at the front of the room. I made my way through the presentation, and I was so relieved when it was done. As I stood up there, waiting to be told I could sit back down, Mrs. Dudley did something that I’ve never forgotten. She said, “Class, look at how red Jill’s face is!” And when the heat on my cheeks burned practically to the point of pain, she added, “and it keeps getting redder!” My neck and chest were covered in hives quicker than I could snap my fingers and be somewhere far, far away from there. Stunned and deeply humiliated, I sat back down at my desk and choked back tears for the remainder of class. I’ll never forget it, and I’ll never do that to one of my students. Not ever.

Flash forward a decade and some change, and I was somehow 11 years old again. I was under a level of pressure that, though partly magnified in my own mind, took me out of my comfort zone. I think it’s fair to say I’ve blushed at this job since we returned to the office last August, but this was the first time I’d done so without a pale blue surgical mask conveniently covering my cheeks. I keep a little mirror propped up against my monitor just in case I feel like I have something in my teeth or under my nose. I caught a glimpse of myself and the first thing I could see was my neck. Like a red Rorschach test, there were odd shapes that continued all the way down my chest. I lowered my head a bit so I could see the state of my face and not only was it red, but it was covered in little patches of burgundy at the tops of my cheeks. The realization that I appeared nervous made it even worse. I was embarrassed that I was stressed. I felt my body was abandoning me in a moment that, in reality, I was handling with ease. The task was practically done and done well, but I couldn’t shake the anxious feelings. I overthought the timing and eventually made my way to the bathroom to get the full picture. I had some tricks up my sleeve from the past: run cold water over my wrists, dab cold water on my face, take BIG, deep breaths. This time, nothing seemed to be working. Growing nervous that someone would think I’d been in the bathroom too long, the redness increased, and I made my way back to my desk. Part of the problem with blushing, made abundantly clear by my memory of that day in sixth grade, is that people often feel compelled to comment on it. I was so, so worried that someone was going to say something about the state of my skin and, you guessed it, this did nothing to lessen the redness and blotchiness.

I was able to seek a timely reprieve in a coworker’s office and it mostly subsided. That is, until I got back to my desk. For some reason I was so embarrassed that I appeared embarrassed. I’d had some of my hair pinned back in a twist on each side of my head and I quickly put it all down in an attempt to cover my cheeks a little more. I briefly considered putting on my scarf to cover my neck and chest, but the thought of being any hotter than I was took that option right off the table.

I Googled “How to stop blushing immediately” and one of the things I hadn’t tried yet was an antihistamine. I then had to look up what an antihistamine was to be sure, and lo and behold, I knew we had Benadryl as the person who stocks the first aid drawer. I crept over to the drawer, and just as I was struggling to pop the bright pink pill out of that dumb foil packaging, my manager came into the room. I awkwardly stuck it in my mouth and turned around without a word, the bitter taste of the pill melting onto my tongue as I lunged for my water and choked it all down.

The workday ended around the same time that the Benadryl started making me crave a nap and I packed up my things to head home. Normally, I would take the T and then walk about a mile home, but today I decided that I would instead walk the two miles to get some fresh air. I didn’t have it in me to smile politely at the man playing the drums SO LOUDLY in the train station. I couldn’t muster the humility needed to let someone rush through the doors onto the train before I’d even had the chance to get off. So, I walked (slowly). And as I was walking slowly, I realized we needed butter and cream, and into Walgreens I went. My brain now filled with a heavy fog akin to the one that encircles the Golden Gate Bridge, I headed for the nail polish. I picked up Essie #100, which is a color called Hi Maintenance. It’s so stupid that it’s actually perfect.

From there I wandered aimlessly, and my eyes landed on a sign that said “Holiday Candy.” I couldn’t think of which holiday this would be for, so I investigated further. Alas, Easter is almost upon us (apparently). The first inklings of serotonin started filing back into my brain as I noticed the shelves of chocolate bunnies. I was 11 again, but in a good way. I picked up one that said “solid milk chocolate” and knew I was in for a treat. None of that hollow stuff.

I walked up to the front of the store and stood in line. Once it was my turn, I felt the combination of nail polish and chocolate bunny was weird, so I, a weirdo, said “Ah, the good stuff” as I picked up a tube of Carmex lip balm and put it on the counter to be rung up. The person ringing me out deserves a raise because they made me feel completely justified in my endorsement of the product. To top it all off they said, “Would you like your coupons?” to which I replied, “Sure! Who doesn’t love coupons?!” Unhinged behavior.

And off I went. No butter. No cream. Just three products that showed I needed something sweet and to keep my fingers—the ones prone to fidgeting when nervous—busy. I’m not sure if there’s a deeper meaning to the lip balm but I can’t wait to find out.

The funny thing is, I’ve been looking all over for that 11-year-old version of myself. I want to get back to her and nurture her into an adult who loves herself. I wish I hadn’t found her in this triggering fashion, but I found her, nonetheless. And you know what? I took her to the candy isle and let her snap the little bunny’s ears off on the walk home.

Brain collage

Can you sense my excitement for spring? Bubbles, bicycles, and bouquets, oh my.

Fool’s Spring

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Perhaps I was fooled
by the electrical wires

bzzing, bzzing

To me, on this tepid evening in early March,
I swear I could hear
the crickets and the grasshoppers
contributing to the nocturnal chorus.

Instead it was the circus of wires 
that were filling the air on my city block
with sounds

however contrived

of an impending springtime,
the likes of which I’d almost forgotten.

Brain Massage

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