And They Used Bon Ami!

Mrs. Hutchinson and Mrs. Cobb

It's a pretty well-known fact that I have a "comfort food" list a mile long and at the top of that list is ice cream. When life overwhelms me, I immediately reach for it. Once, in high school, I ate an entire half gallon of Mayfield's Mint Chocolate Chip in one sitting. That's 64 ounces, people! I know what you're thinking. "Girl's got issues." Maybe so, but I'd like to think I've curbed my cravings a bit since realizing my metabolism just can't keep up with that craziness anymore. 

Aside from Ramen Noodles (yes, I said Ramen Noodles), ice cream and countless other evils, I have another form of comfort: The Ghost and Mr. Chicken. It's the mint chocolate chip of movies and I've loved it since I was a little girl. Ever heard of it? It's a classic Don Knotts movie from 1966 about a wannabe reporter who stumbles upon the story of his career when he spends the night in a house rumored to be haunted with the ghost of Mr. Simmons, a organ playing eccentric who killed his wife and then himself. In the movie, there is talk of how the ivory keys of the organ are stained with blood, despite being cleaned. And almost every single time cleaning the stubborn stains is mentioned, Mrs. Cobb adds, "And they used Bon Ami!" Over and over again Mrs. Cobb informs anyone who will listen that despite the best efforts possible, nothing could be done. It's one of my favorite things about the movie. It's funny to watch, but the other night when I was watching it, I starting thinking about Mrs. Cobb and her need to continually shout the same message over and over again. If this were real life, anyone within earshot of her would cringe and roll their eyes every time she opened her mouth to repeat herself. And then another thought crept into my brain and it hasn't left since then: Is that me? 

It's true, everyone has to vent when they are going through a crisis. Sometimes it's a text message or a phone call, and then sometimes it's cornering a co-worker in the supply closet to spill your latest frustrations.  Who does that? Um...wait...I do. I've had a lot to say about this divorce. I've had a lot to say about the man who just didn't seem to care that his family was falling apart. I've wanted everyone to know that I did everything I felt I could do and nothing (not even Bon Ami) worked. I have had many different stories and rants, but they all come down to the same message. And as much as I hate to admit it, I'm Mrs. Cobb and I'm shouting, "I'm hurt and he's stupid!" over and over again. I've got to stop. I AM hurt and he IS stupid, but this horse has been beat to death. I need to put down the riding crop and move on to a different topic of conversation. The trouble is, that's easier said than done. I find myself saying things like, "Okay, this is the last thing I'm going to say," but it never is. I'm beginning to justify what I'm about to say before I even say it. I'll start texts messages (group messages so EVERYONE can enjoy) with, "I'm having a moment" or "I know I just vented yesterday, but..." It's got to stop. So this is my next big hurtle. I have to silence the continuous comments and get off this loop. It's not healthy. What's done is done and there is no moving forward when I'm continually walking in a circle. Prayer folks! I need Jesus! Some days I need vodka, but every day I need Jesus. Turning this circle into a straight line is going to be the hardest thing I've ever done.  I somehow feel that if I quit talking about how hurt I am, everyone is going to forget I'm hurting. And as selfish as it sounds, that scares me. But, fear cannot rule my life anymore than obsessive venting can. So, I'm getting off the merry go round. I can already say with certainty that I won't have this mastered by the end of the week, but I will master it. And for my core friends, you will still hear a rant from time to time, but I refuse to give this anymore of my life. As cliché as it sounds, life really is too short. So here's to pleasant, uncomplicated conversations in my near future. They are long overdue.