A Virtuous Letter

A Picture of My "Happy Place"

Dear Patience,

I know you haven’t been hanging around here much lately, but I’m asking for you to spend some time with me tonight.

I know. I know. You come around every single morning when I’m trying to get Zane ready for preschool, and you were stellar with the whole potty training thing. And to be fair, you’re also a pretty consistent visitor whenever SRH’s parents make their way up here from Alabama.

But really, they only visit a few times a year, so it’s not like you’re working that hard.

Okay. I’m sorry. That’s not true. You’re around a lot. You’re here way more often than kindness or cleanliness. You’ve bailed me out more than a few times recently when lack of nutrients made me homicidal, and yes, it was you who gave me the brilliant idea of family movie night when I just couldn’t face one more bath time.

All true.

So why am I asking again for you virtuous presence this evening?

Because I have a dinner tonight with work colleagues, dear Patience, and I may poke someone in the eye with a fork if you don’t join me.

Yes, I am well aware that you are stretched to your limits by any and all fraternizing with academics, but this is part of my job and you simply must come along to keep me sane – and employed.

Plus Pat – can I call you Pat?- you should remember that you actually do like some academics, just none in this particular group.

Remember that time when they – the folks we’ll be dining with this evening - called everyone in my job class “flunkies”? Yeah, that was awesome. And you were expert when you helped me keep my cool as I explained that this attitude toward folks who aren’t faculty might be hindering their recruitment efforts. See, I patiently explained as you held my hand, flunkies don’t like being told that they’re flunkies. They prefer that we actually pretend that they’re real people.

One of your finest moments, Pat. Truly.

So here’s what I need from you tonight:

Please help me refrain from curling my lip when they start to talk about how incompetent every other person in the whole universe is including their secretaries, students, and fellow female academics.

Please curb my nostril flare when they talk about husbands, vacations, and kids who winter in Aspen.

Please keep me from screaming “Not everyone at this table is straight!” when they pretend not to notice that such talk of husbands et al. completely excludes the one lesbian at the table.

Please allow me to handle with graceful aplomb the way they will ignore me throughout the entire meal unless it’s to express disapproval that more people from my university aren’t attending their conference tomorrow.

I know it’s a lot to ask, but if you can do this, I will be forever grateful. And maybe I’ll take you out for dessert afterwards. You’ll certainly deserve it.

Thanks in advance,

Zany Mama