A hook or button.
February 21st, 2010 Late PM
Sometimes our greatest display of strength can be in asking for help.
I stepped on the lift tonight. I didn’t know my fellow passenger but I hesitated for only a second. “Could I impose?”
The tall, young blondish fellow with big hands in seconds did what I couldn’t – he secured on my wrist my pearl bracelet with the tiny circle spring clasp that required either two hands or the patience of a saint (which I am not). We were giggling as we spilled out of the elevator into the lobby.
“Usually people ask me to reach something high up for them,” he confided, blushing.
“Now you have a new story to tell,” I said, pausing to make eye contact again before I raced to my cab.
In late 1987 when I returned to work for a few weeks after Clay’s birth, I similarly called on Linda, a MAPCO executive administrative assistant. I had these damn Laurie Ashley white blouses with buttons up the back, ruffles on the front.. particularly hellish for a nursing mother trying to quickly express milk during meeting breaks. I wouldn’t have made it without Linda’s help.
Becoming single again doesn’t mean going it alone. Nor does it mean trading out all your clothes and jewelry. Look around. There is often someone other than a husband to zip your dress, check for pepper in your front teeth… Ask! Break the ice. Be human. Allow yourself to be vulnerable. That includes training your best friends (male and female) to ask, when you are weepy or snippy, “have you changed your estrogen patch lately?”
xo, Trix