Grown Up Permission Slip NeededPosted: August 24, 2018
Remember when you were a kid and you needed a permission slip to do something out of the norm. Not like getting out of school early to go to the dentist. That was just a plain old note from your Mom. No, a permission slip was for something fun or dangerous, like going on a field trip to a zip line. Once you had that permission slip signed by your parent or guardian (which was a word I never really understood since everyone I knew had parents), you were free to do something without worry.
Sometimes I wish there was a permission slip for grown ups. Yes, one of the beauties of being a grown up is being able to do whatever you want. Like my friend Lane says, when you are an adult you can eat ice cream for dinner, not that she realized that until she was well over thirty.
But there is a modicum of guilt that comes with doing whatever I want.
Yesterday I cleaned the house, did four loads of laundry, picked up Russ’ prescriptions, did some office work, had a meeting, wrote a dozen necessary emails, and called three workmen. Today, I did a puzzle, finished a fifteen year old cross stitch, and binged watched the first season of West Wing. I had a lot of guilt about my day today. I did hand wash one shirt and machine wash one quilt, but other than that, well.
I might have felt better about things if I had a permission slip for the puzzle. I’m not sure who I should ask to sign it. I could fax it to my father since I usually had parents sign those things, even though my parents usually told me just to sign it for them. For the record, I highly objected to forging permissions slips on my parents’ orders so my mother usually signed with a dried up orange magic marker that she had to lick since the cap had been lost ages ago. Russ could have sent me a permission slip electronically, since he might actually be my guardian now. I would have even felt better if Carter had signed it for me, just as long as someone else knew I was goofing off.
Now, I never feel like I need permission for Mah Jongg, or bridge. Since I don’t go shopping that is a non-issue in my house. Somehow starting a puzzle that has taken over the living room game table feels decedent. I am not trying to hog it. Anyone who walks by is welcome to work on it. No one else in the family uses that table. We have plenty of other tables available, and they are all clean.
I know plenty of women who feel no guilt about reading a book all day and night. How is doing a puzzle different, especially since I was listening to a book on podcast while I did it?
Maybe I just need a little confession. Next time I work on the puzzle I will hang a little sign on my front door handle. Of course it will be tomorrow. I have to finish this puzzle before Wednesday when I have Mah Jongg here and we need the table.