The whole front wall of the office is all glass. Floor to ceiling, wall to wall. I watch people walk in and out of the building all day long. The men’s restroom is directly outside the front door in full view for my viewing pleasure and distraction…if I happen to look up from my computer monitors, which I try very hard to NOT do. It is kind of an ongoing game in my head: “Do NOT look up at that man who is zipping his drawers.” “Do NOT laugh at the guy who is walking extremely quickly to get to the restroom before he loses it. Don’t even act like you know he is in the building.” “Focus on the cursor, focus on the spreadsheet, focus on the webpage. FO-CUS, Rhonda Joy.”

So…even though that should gross me out and cause me to walk away and make a beeline to the office kitchen, I am a trooper and eat at my desk almost every day. Come to think about it, I’ve eaten at my desk all of my adult life. I even ate at the piano when I was giving daily piano lessons. What. In. The. World.  I am BETTER at what I eat at my desk now, however. It used to be Cheezits and M&Ms and cans of Dr. Pepper, but now it’s baggies  sandwich bags of apple slices and celery sticks and carrots and grapefruits and oranges, with an occasional multi-grain cracker or 30, and always a tall glass of water. But I digress at my awesomeness.

I was eating my apple slices yesterday afternoon, and this really friendly gentleman who used to creep me out with his daily waves through the glass, poked his head in the door and said, “HOW do you DO it, Rhonda?!  You are ALWAYS eating!”

Seriously.  If that doesn’t call for a fast and a starvation diet plan, I don’t know what does.

Someone told me yesterday that I am transparent.  (Thank you, Myndee.)  I get it. I am who I am, and I have nothing left to hide.  LITERALLY, it seems, since my OFFICE is transparent and everyone can see right through it to observe EVERYTHING I DO!

I am grateful for a home where we can close the doors and lock them and be semi-private.

I am grateful that at least I am not EVE…or a fish. I HAVE clothes and wear them in this fishbowl.

I am grateful that at least the people outside the fishbowl cannot see my legs.

I am grateful that I have nothing to hide…but my legs.

Once upon a time, we were visiting Dad and Mom when the girls were very young and it was the late 80’s. Hair was “scrunched” for that stylish look of the day. It was Sunday morning and time to leave for church. I came upstairs after spending much time with a can of mousse and a mirror to get my hair all scrunched just right. And what did my Mother say to me?

“Aren’t you going to fix your hair?”

Oh, Mom. You meant well.

So, I am grateful that although men Moms people can sometimes be extremely insensitive with their comments, I am learning to shrug off those comments and go with the ones that make me feel better, not worse.

And I certainly hope that I am getting better at watching what I say to others, but if I was ever completely insensitive towards anyone reading this and caused you to want to diet or cut off all of your hair…I AM SO SORRY.

Time for a fish fry.