diapers, shoes, and saying no
This is a long one. Apologies.
Last week I was put in charge of a "pop-up" kids' clothing distribution event at a suburban low-income apartment complex, a place where hundreds of refugees and immigrants from all over the world now live.
The way it works: Someone on their end gets the word out that at such-and-such day and time, people are coming with a whole bunch of free stuff. And on my end, we load several hundred pounds of donated, used-but-still-nice clothes into as many cars as we have, drive it out there, and set it all up on folding tables and 20-foot-long tarps on the ground.
The clothes usually disappear in about 15 minutes of what can only be described as total fucking chaos. The need is that great.
The one thing that these mothers need the most, though, is diapers. We usually only have a couple cases of them, and trying to make sure everyone gets a few packages of diapers — which is only enough for a few days — is challenging and depressing.
Last week, as people were "shopping," mothers kept coming up to me asking for "Pampers." One woman even tried to snatch bags out of my hands because she thought the bags contained diapers. (They didn't.) All I could do was apologize, say "no more," and refer them to IROC (nonprofit site) for more help.
Also last week: I spent three or four days with an open browser tab displaying the designer shoes of my dreams. They checked all my boxes: Mod style, secondhand but near-mint condition, absolutely perfect for the show I'm going to this weekend.
They cost almost $300. On sale.
I was raised to be generous with my time and my money — to help other people. I was also raised to deny myself anything expensive. Or at least feel guilty if I splurged on myself. I have an older relative who always wants to know what I paid for things. Because he cannot wait to judge. Even when it came to life-saving medical care for my dog, I'd get, "How much is that gonna cost you?"
In my family, it's OK to spend a lot of money on super-high-end antiques, business-class flights to Italy, and good restaurants. But not on clothes or other "frivolous" things. The prices on anything fancy a woman might like are always deemed "outrageous."
After several days of looking at those shoes, I said fuck it, and fuck all of you, then added them to my cart.
Monday I got the email that they'd shipped.
Yesterday I clicked on "track package" and saw that ONCE AGAIN, I'd forgotten to update my address on a retail site, so the goddamn things were headed to California.
This happened last year with a pair of rubber rain boots I bought off a different site. My former neighbor was nice enough to mail them to me in DC.
Because it had been two years and four days since I left San Francisco, and because I was too embarrassed to ask my former neighbors to bail my ass out one more time, I bought the UPS plan that lets you change delivery addresses mid-trip.
Only to discover that the shipper wouldn't allow changes.
So I went online to the place I bought the shoes and, via the text chat, the rep came up with a solution. The seller will tell UPS to return the package. The seller will then issue me a refund and relist the shoes on the site, at which point I can buy the shoes again.
As much as I like to think I have my shit together, I am clearly bad at online shopping, especially when it comes to shoes. This was the universe telling me, "Bitch you don't need $300 shoes. Go spend that money on diapers for those women."
Because I have taken care of neighbors' dogs, word has gotten out at the local dog park. One dude, I will call him Sam, asked me if I would take care of his Anatolian Shepherd for a week in January.
I wanted to say yes. Because I always want to help people, ESPECIALLY when it comes to their dogs. But this dog weighs almost as much as I do, could pull me over if she really wanted to, has gotten into fights with other dogs at the dog park, and has a very strict schedule. Apparently this breed needs a serious routine, any deviation from which causes severe anxiety.
Last night I admitted to myself and to Sam that I couldn't take care of his dog. It would require more than I have to give, and I'd be sacrificing the time I need to take care of myself and still meet my other commitments.
I can't remember the last time I told someone "no" when they asked me for help. On TikTok that'd make me a "people pleaser." IRL it means I need to work more on boundaries.
Several times a week, I go to my local Wegmans, this super fancy grocery store, to pick up lunch for my sister-in-law, because for the forseeable future, she's living at the hospital with my nephew, and it's one of the few things I can actually do to help.
At the store, when you come in from the lower-level parking lot, there's this photo of Wegman, right at the escalator:
I finally, finally disagree. I am of no use to anyone if I am not taking care of myself. That means prioritizing my physical and mental health, and doing things that I enjoy.
So instead of re-buying those stupid perfect shoes, I'm planning a few antiquing road trips, where I will fill up my car with vintage treasures that bring me joy, and it's none of anyone's business how much I'm gonna pay for them.
And I'll pick up a few cases of diapers the next time I'm at Costco.
Links
Jezebel's back. (Jezebel)
The Verge did a whole package on the year Twitter died. My favorite piece was this one, in which Shauna Wright (@goldengateblond) tells her story. I had no idea she worked there! (The Verge)
An alarming number of people are walking out of assisted living facilities and dying. FYI for if/when you have to put older relatives in one of those places. (WaPo)
Loved this story about a single mom who fostered teenage Afghan refugees. (The Cut)
Nick Cave covering "Rainy Night in Soho" at Shane MacGowan's funeral. (Consequence)
I love it when brands get in on pop culture trends. Like they did with the release of the new Nicki Minaj album. (Mashable)
This is awesome: Pharrell Williams' stunned reaction to hearing Maggie Rogers' music in a 2106 NYU critique session. (Boing Boing)
How staffers on the Hill are reacting to that sex tape. (Washingtonian)
Gifts for people you hate. (author's site)
If you loved the Barbie movie: There's now a Mojo Dojo Casa House candle. (Homesick)
Best $20 holiday gift? (Target)
Child instructed not to sit on Santa's colostomy bag. (Onion)
Horny Boomer sends unsolicited dick fax. (Hard Times)