Manolo BLAHniks And Headbands

By: Allison Norris

I threw on my lululemon gear, of course, and a black head band to hold back my unruly bang grow out, and headed downtown for the dentist. My appointment was at 9am, so I was rushing to make it on time knowing that black pencil skirts and tucked in dress shirts would be also making their way downtown… for work.

I parked in my usual place and entered the bustling sidewalk to walk the two blocks to my dental high rise. I was trying to pull off the “sporty” look, like I had actually just gone for a quick jog or a yoga class before heading into work for the day. I actually was just too tired to take a shower and put on real clothes. In front of me was this gorgeous young woman in a perfectly fitting pair of slacks with a crisp white collared shirt and Manolo pumps that looked like they were killing her feet, but nobody would ever know it. Her shiny black hair cascaded down her back, ending in a precise straight line. Hate her. She was reaching into her bag for her phone as she turned the corner into the same building that I was entering only four steps behind. Huge rock on her finger… of course. She definitely hadn’t had babies yet… nobody has a waist that small after the miracle of hip movement to grow a basketball in your gut.

Off the phone, she hit the elevator button and then I caught a glimpse of her profile. ELIZABETH! Oh no. It’s Elizabeth. Not “Liz”, but “Elizabeth”. Like the Queen. The most put together, stunning human being I know. Also the one that makes you feel like you have something black in your teeth and she notices it the whole time, but gets off on not telling you because she likes to imagine the moment that you catch your reflection and go “ahhh man! nobody told me!” as you replay all of the people that you recently smiled at. Yep. That’s her. She only started being nice to me last year after I told her I was dating an NFL player, like I could only then be on her list. Anxiety burrowed into my chest and an automatic monologue started to form in my head….

oh heyyy, yeahhhh, oh noo, I’m not working downtown anymore. Nope. I actually moved back from Chicago… yeahhhh. Why? Oh, because I got pregnant. MmmmHmmm. Yep. He’s 10 weeks old. I look great? Ohhh thanks, so do you! Suuuure! Call me sometime! I’d love to. MmmHmmm. Good to see you too!

And so I hid behind a doorway and watched as a member from my past life boarded the elevator and surely got off on her desired floor. It wasn’t that I was embarrassed or ashamed or jealous. It wasn’t that I’m not proud of myself or happy about all of the decisions that I’ve made. It’s just that sometimes I feel like an alien visiting Planet Allison and all of the Allisontians are staring at me because something’s just a little different. An elevator ride simply isn’t enough time to get deep and explain what it’s like to feel your son move inside of you for nine months, and then after you push him out of your body with every ounce of strength that you never knew you had, he smiles at you and you are forever in love with someone who didn’t exist last year. It’s hard to share something so special with an acquaintance who you were pretty much only competitive with every time you bumped into each other at fabulous parties. We weren’t playing the same game anymore… we had been placed into different leagues.

I mean, who knows, maybe she could have related? It looked like she really loved her Manolos and I don’t think they existed last year either… they were totally from this season.