Sunday, May 3, 2009

Miss Pettigrew Lives for More Than One Day

On Friday night James and I had a date night at home. We usually watch a movie together, but with his working so much and school winding up it had been several weeks. We have a subscription to Netflix, so when he said "I'll watch 'Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day' with you", I was excited since I had forgotten we had it! It had been sitting there for several weeks, just waiting. I should forget about things more often and be pleasantly surprised. Now, how to hide cheesecake...

I loved the movie, although I can't *officially* recommend it because of a certain scene. Let's just say that if you watch it, when Miss Pettigrew goes upstairs to wake up a "boy", don't look. Oh, and you may want to cover your husband/boyfriend's eyes when Amy Adams is in a towel. She lets it slip some, and although it's a side bottomish view it's more than I want my husband seeing!

Anyway, in the movie, poor Miss Pettigrew is hungry but never gets to eat. She has lost her job, has no money, and every time food is in her hands someone bumps her and she drops it. It's heartbreaking, seeing her so consistently embarrassed yet still famished! I wanted to pull her into a restaurant and sit her down with a pile of muffins and a jug of milk, tuck a stack of napkins in her collar, and say "Have at it!"

I got to thinking about this movie today because Miss Pettigrew reminded me of someone. There's this very sweet, softspoken lady in church that I don't see very often because she's in the other ward that meets in our building. We used to live in that ward several years ago, but since we moved have fallen out of touch with most of the people there. Still, some of them smile and say "hi", and we do the same.

Last summer, this lady (I'll call her Sister P.) pulled up in her car by my van as I was waiting for someone to come by and get their Pampered Chef package. (I don't sell, but my sister does.) We began talking, and I quickly got confused as she was mentioning events I didn't remember. I knew my mommy-brain was bad, but I was positive it wasn't that miserable. Then I realized she had me mixed up with someone else, especially when she mentioned that I had changed my hair.

"Oh, you mean so-and-so!" I said, relieved I wasn't actually crazy. "Yeah, her hair is short, wavy, and she colors it different colors, and mine is long and straight as a board." She apologized up and down and I reassured her that it wasn't a big deal. "It's ok, really." I explained matter-of-factly, "After all, we're both fat." (Meaning the other girl and me.) Even though it made perfect, logical sense to me I probably shouldn't have mentioned it. She was mortified. Nearly speechless, she stammered another apology and drove off.

I was surprised that she had mixed us both up, as this other girl and I are nothing alike, except both of us are pretty overweight and tend to carry it in the samish places. Different personalities, style, you name it. Plus, I was even Sister P.'s daughter's Young Women advisor for a while. I didn't blame her for the mistake since my brain malfunctions often. Still, I couldn't think of any other reason for her blunder except for the obvious fat factor, so that's why I mentioned it. Not PC, I guess. Oh, well.

The next time I spoke with her at any length was last Sunday. I was sitting on the couch out in the foyer when she asked me a question about the Primary room setup. I gave her the answers I could think of. Then the conversation turned to my pregnancy, since I told her that I was going to be released from the Primary presidency soon because of it.

Now, as I relate this next part, keep in mind that I've gained 22 pounds so far. I'm not happy about that, but insulin injections apparently do that to you sometimes. I'm in maternity clothes, even though it's harder to tell I'm pregnant if I'm sitting down, because my tummy isn't nice and smoothly round. It's--lumpy round. Like a deformed giant potato. Still, I'm so much bigger than I was before I started, being six months pregnant.

After finding out that I'm due in July she exclaimed warmly, "You don't even look pregnant!" Bless her heart!

I smiled and commented "Yeah, it's harder to tell when I'm sitting down because I have this stuff on top of it." Meaning my fat, of course. She left shortly thereafter. When I realized what I said, I groaned inwardly, "Oh no." Along with the remorse I found myself giggling in glee internally. I felt so bad for her since she was trying to compliment me, and I hope she didn't feel akward or realize how that could have been taken. Because...um...telling a six-month-pregnant woman who has gone up in size a lot that she doesn't look pregnant could have caused a hormone-induced crying jag. Thankfully I'm resigned to playing Shamu at the next Sea World Impersonation Competition, so I laughed instead, and heartily. Over and over at each retelling.

Yesterday I was sitting in the foyer again (thanks to my aching back) during Sacrament Meeting. They had the doors open about 10 feet away from me, and I was in the chair closest to the hall. Sister P. came down the hallway, but she couldn't see the open doors. As she neared me, I smiled and spoke quietly. "Hi! How are you?"

In a normal, everyday voice she replied "Hi, how are you Sister -insert my real last name here-?" She was getting closer and closer and I didn't know how to tell her that the doors were open. I waited tensely with a smile on my face, not knowing how to stop her before she saw what was going on. She continued. "I was just looking at so-and-so's boy--" (who, ironically, was the son of the woman she mixed me up with last year) at which point she saw the open doors and halted. "Oh--I'm so sorry!" she whispered hastily, then practically ducked and ran around the corner to the next hallway.

Poor Sister P. I hope that if you read this, you will know that I think you're wonderful and feel only hope that I will not continue to be a source of your embarrassment. Unless, you haven't felt embarrassed about any of this or remembered it until now. In that case, perhaps you should go rent a good movie, buy some chocolate, and forget about everything I just said.

And Sister P., if you watch dear Miss Pettigrew? I hope you don't see why she reminded me of you. If you do, please remember how much I adore her.

7 comments:

Annette Lyon said...

This was almost painful to read. Poor Sister P.

Heidi Ashworth said...

I really enjoyed the movie, too, in spite of (or perhaps because of) the one scene you mentioned. Someone else blogged about not liking it (I can't remember who) and I agreed with her b/c I really did--but at the end of the day, I really liked the movie. I esp. loved Lee Pace--so much hunkier than he is in his now defunct TV series, Pushing Up Daises (darling show!)

She's in the kitchen! said...

Annette got it right....painful! I hope Sister P. really hasn't given it as much thought as you have! I think we all have been in a position where we keep getting it wrong, and just want to die! Well, I know I have, but you know what? Although the feelings are with me, I can't remember what it was about, or whom it was with. Is this forgetfulness caused by old age or a blessing from above? :-)

Larky Lady said...

Haha, too funny. You are so cruel..poor lady. I wonder if she'll ever stop to talk to you again!

mindyluwho said...

Oh my goodness, that was the best laugh! Not at her expense of course, but the kind that just makes you laugh and then sigh and say, "oh dear"!

I totally can relate to the hormone-induced crying jag. I was around 8 months pregnant with my first child and a lady asked me if I was retaining water to which I replied in the affimative, to which she then replied that it looked like it.

An Ordinary Mom said...

Thanks for the smile :) !! And poor Sister P :) !!

LexiconLuvr said...

I haven't seen it but I want to! Poor Sister P. I hope she's okay. And I'm sure you're not the cause of the embarrasment. Some people (I'm talking about me here) are just naturally embarrased by everything they do. =]