B is For Backhand

It's a given law of nature that when competing predators see prey being pursued, they join in. In the English vernacular, we call this "coming out of the woodwork." When I was preparing to leave on my mission, all of the sudden every male within a 12 mile radius was knocking on my front door. Any time I'm dating someone exclusively, I experience this same phenomena. Hello?! Where were you three months ago when I awkwardly had a face-off with the guy who stood me up? I'm just saying, you're timings a little off dudes. That being said, the specimens that are expelled from said woodwork are usually....of an exotic breed. Take last Sunday for example. As a ward missionary, it's my privilege to teach the Gospel Principles class (learn more here) every other Sunday. When you know you're going to be standing in front of an audience, you try to make an effort to look your best-No sense in subjecting your class to an eyesore for an hour! Now, I'm not one to EVER toot my own horn about my physical appearance. If I do, it's out of a fit of facetious-ness. My best friend will tell you that I carry the lowest opinion of myself, but that's a topic for a Dr. Phil edition or something, not the Cat Lady. ANYWAYS, it's about as rare as finding Peter Pan's shadow that I will deem myself attractive, much less voice it. But on this particular Sabbath day, I would have given myself a 7. I was wearing my hunter-green pencil skirt, Nieman Marcus heels, and my hair was doing its usual voluptuous routine. As class began, I was excited to have seemingly eager participants, until I realized that one of them was that kid. You know the one I'm talking about; the guy who has to speak just to remind himself how beautiful he thinks his own voice is? He was becoming very distracting and disruptive, and finally winks at me and says,"I'm just teasing. Just ignore me." In typical Sister-Chidester-smackdown fashion, I retorted,"It would be much easier to ignore you if you would be quiet." A midst the muted cheers for my verbal lashing, our wanna-be Flynn Ryder looked somewhat abashed, and thankfully corked it for the rest of the meeting. After class ended, I gathered my things, cleaned up the whiteboard, and turned around only to find our antagonist about 6 inches away from my face. "Yes?" I said. "Do you have a critique for me or something?" He proceeds to grin like a goon and says,"No, but I do have a question; you said you're a designer, right?"

"Right," I reply. 

"Can you tell me what material this is?" he asks, holding out his suit coat arm. 

"Um...probably not, considering that's not my area of study."

"Please, can you just try?"

(pinching the fabric between my fingers) "My guess would be viscose and polyester." 

Grinning, he looks me dead in the eye and states,"Nope. That's boyfriend material." 

"..............................................................................................................................................................."

There was literally nothing to say to that. An incredulous laugh/gasp passed my lips, and then I walked off to talk to actual boyfriend material.

This Ain't a Fairytale

Would you be surprised if we told you we signed up for an elective together? We didn't think so. We feel very strongly that by living together and having all the same classes together, we were still lacking a quality-time ratio. Let me express to you the importance of choosing electives with the potential of meeting someone from the male species. There is one boy in our design classes. ONE. Electives are a legendary time in which the Clarke building unleashes designers into unknown territory, as if we have exactly one hour to spot a rare unicorn: AKA a man. So go ahead, close your eyes, imagine us walking across campus with the hopes of meeting only the cutest men enrolled ... and of course having them sweep us off our feet, and ride off into the sunset on a bicycle built for two.
Enter World Religions.
As we briskly enter room 111, (after a quick pep talk) we're on the prowl. Are those two empty seats in between two quite eligible bachelors we see? Dare we hope? There's no apparent glimmer coming from the left hand where the fourth finger meets the knuckle. So we stake our territory by strategically placing ourselves in said empty seats, and await the ringing of church bells.

HALT!

The universe has once again taken pleasure in conspiring against us. Dashed to pieces are our dreams of romance! Gone forever is the window of opportunity! I swear those rings just popped up, like daisies! Things can only go up from here ... that is until the next class ... when it happened again. 111 has become the new 666.
(Stay tuned for part 2)

It's Only Been 24 Hours....

And already folks, ALREADY, we have three delectable, horrifyingly classic tales to entertain you with. Reunited at last (and it feels so good) the Cat Lady Corner is already bustling with willing candidates to supply and endless amount of laughter and tears. Back at work, back into the swing of classes and co-eds. The following conversation that took place yesterday morning is theme track to our matching-sweater-lives.

(Austrie): How's work treating ya?
(me): Pretty good. We went to badger creek today
(Austrie): What is that?
(me): It's like a camp
(Austrie): Any hot co workers? ;)
(me): Yep. He's engaged.
(Austrie): Freeeeeeeeak. Typical

I Am

I'm not a stranger to the cruelty and callousness of the human race. Truth be told, none of us are. Each of us could fill pages with stories of the daggers others have thrown into the underbellies of our insecurities. The driving force behind this post is not to solicit empathy or pity, but to raise my voice and make my stand in regards to today's experience, and experiences past. Today I was told that I will make a great mother, but I'm not wife material. After finding my voice following a stunned silence, I asked this man what made him say that? His response? "You lack what it takes to get a man interested, let alone keep him interested." 

People: The problem here isn't that this happened to me. The problem here is that this is happening to boys and girls, men and women, every. single. day. The problem is that our society has become infected with the objectification of the sexes, breeding the ideology that our worth is completely contingent upon whether or not we are "sexy," "hott," or "gorgeous." To this man I say shame on you. Shame on you for trying to encapsulate all that I am, all that I have to offer, in my appearance. How dare you try to limit me by mortal conditions. To this man, I say you have no idea what a wonderful wife I am. I say AM, because everything that makes me wonderful, everything that makes me ME, is what will make me a treasure of a wife. I am fiercely loyal, but maybe you don't want a wife who will never speak ill of you? I am smart, but maybe you don't want a wife who can speak for herself? I am confident and spicy, but maybe you want a wife who lacks goals and ambition. I am beautiful, but maybe you want a wife who cheapens herself with revealing clothing and degrading actions? My mouth is soft and full of kindness, but perhaps you want a wife who speaks vulgarly. I am strong, I am faithful, I love deeply, completely, and thoroughly. I am funny, full of life, vivacious, hard-working, and full of the desire to serve others. So you're right. I'm not YOUR wife material. But I am somebody's wife, and I won't be "material" to him. To him, I'll be his dream, and he will be mine. How. Dare. You. How dare you try to take who I am away from me. How dare you try to stunt my potential. To any man, or woman, who looks upon another and seeks to rob them of who they can become, you should be ashamed of yourself. Love, true love, is seeing the potential in others, seeing what they can become. I know who I am. I am someone's wife, someone's mother, a daughter of God, destined to become a queen.