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To the restless, the insomniacs, the stressed out, the overwork
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the doom scrollers, the worried, and the board. This is
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for you. Good writing is meant to make you think.
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This is the opposite. Short, funny, and unfortunately true stories
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that have mostly to do with nothing to help you
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turn off your brain and turn on your rim. All
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names have been changed to protect the guilty. These are
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anxiety addicts bed time stories.
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Charlie anticipated a lot more fanfare when she came out
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as a lesbian in college. Nobody seemed to care. It's
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not that she was expecting her own gay pride parade,
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but she felt like she was sharing a huge new
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piece of her identity and her family and friends didn't
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seem the least bit interested. And she knew she should
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feel lucky. So many of her peers encountered so much
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negative drama during their coming out stories. She knew that
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that would have sucked, but it weirdly made her question herself,
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did everybody know this before she did? What did that
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say about her instincts and her self awareness? If her
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twelve year old cousins knew her better than she knew herself.
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This bugged Charlie and nagged at her throughout her early twenties.
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She questioned herself relentlessly before every life decision, big or small.
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It wasn't fun. The prevailing sentiment in the early aughts
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was that your post college years were the prime time
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and space to get to know yourself, to find deep
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rooted confidence and awareness, and meet the person that you
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were supposed to be. Charlie imagined that coming out as
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gay would be like the Door and the Lion, the
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Witch and the wardrobe, where she'd enter one world and
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exit another. It hadn't quite worked out that way. It
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didn't simplify her dating life or her career as a
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budding photographer. She still struggled to trust herself and her choices.
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That all being true, things seemed to be going pretty
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darn well for her. She moved to Brooklyn with a
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college roommate and got a job in an alternative magazine
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who sent her on weekly photo assignments all over the city.
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She didn't have a serious girlfriend, but had built a
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fantastically cool community of creative beer drinking women with neon
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hare and tattoos. She felt mostly at home in the group.
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Then at work, there were other friends. The founders of
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the magazine all knew each other from growing up together
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in New York City. They were decidedly alternative, but also
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seemed to be really dialed in. They knew the latest
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fashion designers and artists and chefs, all cool, young, hip,
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downtown type people. But Charlie got the feeling that their
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lives were drastically different from hers, even if she couldn't
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put her finger on exactly what the difference was. It
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came about a year and a half working into the
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magazine in the form of a bridal shower. Ugh, I
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can't believe I have to do this. My mother says
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that it's my grandmother's dying wish, even though she isn't dying,
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but she is super old, Kim explained, while placing a
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heavy and expensive looking monogrammed invitation on Charlie's desk. Maggie,
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Kim's co founder, popped up from behind her monitor. But
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it's gonna be fun, she insisted, smiling at Charlie as
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Kim shook her head walking to the copy room. Maggie
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walked over to Charlie's desk and whispered, it's not going
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to be a stuffy old lady thing. We're all going
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to get her lingerie. Oh nice, Charlie forced a smile.
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She'd been curious about Kim's fiance since she'd met him
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at an art gallery opening the year earlier. She had
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been introduced over plastic cups of wine and had been
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surprised that he was a man. Yeah, Charlie had just
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sort of assumed that Kim was gay too, And on
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the subway ride home later that night, she was annoyed
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with herself. Why didn't she have any instinct when it
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came to people. Was it her small town upbringing? It
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felt like it. Since she'd moved to the city. It
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seemed like the people she met had a whole other
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sense that she was missing. It wasn't gaydar, as people
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like to call knowing someone else's sexual preference. It was
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this instinctual understanding of who you were talking to and
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where they were coming from that Charlie simply did not possess.
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It made her feel like there was this giant inside
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joke that the city was having and she was on
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the outside. The weeks leading up to the bridal shower
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were busy at the magazine. Charlie found herself working late
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into the evening, sharing take out and laughs with Kim
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and Maggie. And the more time she spent with these
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two young women, the more she felt like she didn't
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know them. They were both deeply into the downtown alternative lifestyle.
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They wore Chuck taylors and ripped jeans and seemingly thrifted
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vintage looking coats. They smoked Parliament lights and knew all
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the best hole in the wall flaffel stands. But there
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was something about both of them that Charlie just couldn't place.
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One Friday night, after a twelve hour work day, Charlie
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got out of her tiny Brooklyn shower patted over to
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her small fridge to see if she could scrounge up
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anything edible. On the door was the invitation. She glanced
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at her Whitney Museum calendar hanging above the toaster. The
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shower was on Saturday, as in tomorrow. Crap, Charlie thought
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to herself, looking at her overflowing laundry hamper, wondering if
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she had anything clean. She grabbed a non expired yogurt
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from her fridge, took the invite from the door, and
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plapped herself on her not very comfortable couch in her bathrobe.
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She turned the heavy card stock over in her hand,
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noting the Park Avenue address the Upper east Side. Hum
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Charlie hadn't noticed that it was a neighborhood that Charlie
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only went to to visit museums. The streets comprising that
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area were replete with pre war door man buildings with
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long awnings shielding their residence from their glass doors to
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black cars awaiting them at the curb. The Upper east
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Side was old money, old New York money, and a
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stark contrast to Charlie's life in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. That night,
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falling asleep, Charlie felt that familiar, uneasy feeling of being
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out of the loop creep up on her, and she
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wasn't sure how to place it. Then she remembered that
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she needed a gift, and that it had to be Lingerie. Ugh,
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But then she got night, Charlie smiled to herself. The
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next morning, on her way to the party in a
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thrifted velvet dress in Doc Martin boots, Charlie got off
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the two three train in the West Village. The spring
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air was fragrant and flowers bloomed on the trees. Crowding
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the skinny streets. She got herself a coffee and checked
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her watch. She had plenty of time to get a gift,
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hopefully have it wrapped, and be on the uptown subway
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in time for the noon start time of the shower.
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She thought of the bride to be and almost spit
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out her latte imagining Kim walking down the aisle in
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all white towards the man whom she was now betrothed.
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Your instincts aren't right, Charlie told herself. You're a small
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town girl just figuring out real life. What do you know?
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She wasn't being particularly nice to herself. But this is
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a super fun idea, Charlie gave herself a small mental
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pat on the back as she walked into the pleasure
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chest and walked out with a perfectly purple strap on dildo.
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Charlie giggled to herself imagining Kim opening it up in
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her bedroom. She'd only briefly hesitated on the selection, but
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was pretty sure that a lingerie party should include gag gifts.
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This was for a woman who she'd never seen in
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heels or shaved armpits. Sure she'd understood that the shower
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was for Grandma's sake, but she felt confident that this
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would make the comic relief for Kim that much more valuable. Well,
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as you can imagine, Charlie was wrong. As she gave
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her name to the doorman on eighty six of them park,
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Charlie immediately felt uncomfortable. Sharing the leather tufted elevator with
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two women in floor length firs. Just added to the
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mounting weariness in her stomach. She muttered Kim's name and
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watched the elevator man press the pH button. Even though
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she grew up in a small town outside of Philly,
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Charlie still knew that those letters stood for Penthouse and
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that she was going to the top. Once inside the
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tall ceiling department, it was easily ten times the size
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of the magazine offices, Charlie felt like Oscar the Grouch
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standing in the middle of Barbie's dream house. Her pleasure
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chest bag was ripped from her hands and placed on
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a white table piled with bags from places like Lapurla
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an agent provocateur. Her nose pierced, usually dirty converse wearing
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coworkers greeted her looking like they were playing dress up
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and had to tow Ralph Lauren neither had chip nails
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or dirty hair, but looked like they'd been put through
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the fancy lady version of a human car wash. Perfectly
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shiny hair framed both of their faces, and just the
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perfect amount of shimmer shone from their blushed cheeks. Charlie's
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face burned in self consciousness as she tried to make
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small talk. What a beautiful place, she offered, with a huge,
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hopefully not obviously forced smile. Oh thanks, said Kim, allowing
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just the tiniest bit of awkwardness to escape from her
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poised mannerisms. My grandparents got this place a million years ago,
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like before New York was New York. Charlie was not
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sure that this statement made any sense, but went along
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with it anyway. An actual human in an actual black
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and white dress of a maid's costume offered her a
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cucumber sandwich. Charlie was grateful to have something to do
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with her mouth. It turned out she very much liked
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cucumber sandwiches, and ate nine more. With her belly full,
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she stood adjacent to plenty of interesting conversations about the
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upcoming nuptials, Manhattan real estate, and who was planning on
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going out to the Hamptons a bit early this year
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to quote get away from it all unquote. Charlie accepted
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a piece of asparagus that had a wedge of goat
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cheese piled precariously high on top, and then a fig
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on top of the cheese, and then a piece of
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bacon balancing on the top like the leaning tower of
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appetizer foods. She was just problem solving on how to
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get this thing into her mouth without spilling it on
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the white sofa when a woman in a blowout and
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pearls announced that everyone would need to come sit in
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the living room to watch Kim open her gifts. Oh no,
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Charlie opened her mouth creepily wide to get the vertical
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or driven. She was not gonna stick around for this.
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She tried to make her way over to the gift table.
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Her plan was to just grab her iridescent purple bag
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from the white table and slip out of the giant,
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light filled hell hole that was Grandma's penthouse. But no luck.
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The presents were whisked from the table by the cucumber
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sandwich deliverer, and now there were nine waspy women standing
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between Charlie and her bag. She stood awkwardly next to
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a group of girls in headbands and tiny designer purses
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nestled in their elbows. Charlie stood motionless as Kim opened
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up one gorgeous, expensive French lace lingerie set. And then
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this wasn't a joke. These were not gag gifts. These
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all looked like what Kate Winslet wore under her large
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dresses in Titanic. Kim's grandmother, seated on her right side,
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clutched her pearls when a teddy was unwrapped. You must
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very much be looking forward to your wedding night, she
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exclaimed to her granddaughter with a wink. Charlie accidentally let
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out a quiet snort. Here was her, well technically her boss,
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founder of one of the edgiest magazines in downtown Manhattan.
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In Generational Pearls, opening up underwear in front of a
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woman who clearly thought her granddaughter was a virgin, Charlie's
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mind wandered to the fully nude art show she'd covered
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for last month's issue and assumed that grandma had no
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idea what Kim did for a living. This thought made
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her smile until one of the headband wearing girls placed
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the purple bag into Kim's lap. Charlie gasped she had
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to stop this, but it was too late. Who's this from,
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Kim asked, uncomfortably scanning the room. You bet you're ass.
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Charlie didn't say a word, and she pretended to be
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just as appalled as the rest of the room. When
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Kim pulled out a professionally gift wrap strap on dildo,
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the perfect little party erupted into chaos. Someone ran to
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graandm aside to stop her from falling on her chanelled ass.
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Who in the world would do such a thing? The
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old woman was appalled. Charlie picked that moment to tiptoe
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out of the room in her heavy, clunky boots and
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beeline it to the elevator. She pressed the button repeatedly,
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feeling the cucumber and cream cheese rumble in her stomach.
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She looked over her shoulder at the penthouse door and
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decided to run for the stairs, which she took, all
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twenty six flights of them. She ran down Park Avenue
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and the floral scented air, completely unsure whether to laugh
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or cry, She decided to walk as far as her
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boots would allow, skipping the subway, getting fresh air cooling
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her burning cheeks. Embarrass didn't begin to cover how she felt.
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How could she have read the situation so wrong? Well,
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there was an answer. The upper east side apartment, the
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tall windows with heavy drapery, the help, the sandwiches. That
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scene didn't exist in her consciousness prior to two hours ago.
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She didn't know people lived like that. She certainly didn't
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know that the pearl wearing totally out of touch grannies
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had grandchildren running a magazine dedicated to alternative culture in
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a roach infested office next to a gay bar. The
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whole thing was mind boggling. She walked south through the
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pristy neighborhood until she got to Midtown. The uber diverse
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hustle and bustle of office workers, delivery men, sidewalk yellers
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all made her feel a bit more at home. She
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returned a smile to a woman with neck tattoos carrying
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a yoga mat. She walked all the way down through