When I was at Zumba one night, we were doing this Greek dance that involved lots of finger snapping. The bottom half of me performed just fine, but the top half had to fake it because I’m snap impaired. Always have been. And it made me wonder. Like in fairy tales, was there a good and bad fairy at my christening? If so, it’s obvious which one held the most power. I picture the good fairy standing over me with her wand, ignoring my bewildered parents who begin praying that the priest will show up any minute.
Tapping me lightly on the brow, she says,”I grant Judith average good looks.”
Bad fairy speaks. Her tap is a little harder. “But her teeth will never line up properly. And she’ll be really short and need glasses. And…” At this point, the good fairy steps up. Her voice is high and light.
“Judith will have the ability to make people laugh.”
“She will have a lifelong affinity for strange accidents: She’ll fall off the stage at her ballet concert, forget to wear underwear on a windy day in Ashern, embarrass her first boyfriend with her appalling lack of info on human anatomy which she will voice loudly while surrounded by teenagers in a local movie theatre. And so on.” (The bad fairies voice sounds like she’s smoked for five hundred years and eaten way too much dairy.)
“She will have enough brains to get out of high school and fake her way through university.”
“But she will have blonde moments, many of them, even though she hasn’t truly been blonde since her 12th birthday.”
Good fairy: (forgetting to add another blessing.) “Blonde moments? Why, I myself am a gorgeous blonde. What moments are we talking about?”
Bad fairy: ‘Don’t get me started.”
And the bickering continued with nary a mention of further gifts. There was to be no athletic ability or gracefulness. Or even the ability to keep my mouth shut from time to time. It’s not that I talk too much, (insert husband’s opinion here) but that I speak thoughtlessly about pretty much any topic. I get an idea in my head and it catapults out of my mouth before my brain has a chance to rally the troops and lock the gate. One might say the same about these blog posts.
The whole idea of fairies at my christening actually makes me feel better about things. So don’t try and tell me that my forgetfulness comes from my dad, or my inability to sit still is a gift from my mother. Nope. Bad fairy. Good fairy. I’m still waiting for the middle aged fairy to make an appearance because she has a lot to answer for. But that’s a topic for another day.