Transplanted Life
Sunday, December 21, 2003
Too cold for me to be doing that
Over the past week or so, since the Player's Union basically put the kibosh on Alex Rodriguez giving up some absurd amount of money to go from the Rangers to the Red Sox... Well, actually even farther, back at least ten or fifteen years, I've heard a lot of "you know, if I were looking for a contract, the difference between $10 million and $15 million wouldn't matter to me, it would just be about where I felt more comfortable." You point out that the decision might not seem so cut-and-dried if they had (a) already been making something in that order of magnitude (league minimum has gone up from $100K to $300K over the past decade, and by the time someone is eligible for free agency, they're probably in the multi-million range already) and (b) actually been presented with a choice of $10M and $15M.

I mean, it's easy to say what you'd do in a hypothetical situation if it's so far removed from your experience. For example, "if I was a woman, I wouldn't bother with..."

For example, make-up and shaving my legs. At first, both seemed a tremendous waste of time. And, quite frankly, they still do much of the time. But I have to admit, sometimes, when I'm getting ready to go for work after being up late the night before, it's kind of nice to dab a little something on so that I don't have dark rings around my eyes. And, hey, if I'm going to be putting something on my lips to keep them from chapping anyway, why not add a little color? Especially since my job is basically to greet people. But even on days like today, when I'm just meeting up with Kate to do some shopping and she knows what "plain old Michelle" looks like, I think, well, why should I look better for strangers than people I actually like?

As for the leg-shaving thing, it takes too long, but I just don't like the way I look with hairy legs. Maybe if the hair were lighter, but it's not. Besides, shaving one's legs is an excuse for a bath. When you're a kid (at least if you're a guy), graduating from baths to showers is a big deal, if only because it greatly reduces the amount of time your parents see you naked. There's nothing relaxing about it, though, and you wind up doing it at the beginning of the day, when it's "invigorating", as opposed to the end of the day, when you've actually accumulated grime on you that you'd otherwise go to bed with.

Of course, the novelty of my boobs floating hasn't yet worn off. It's kind of neat not to feel them as a weight, though, as they're just bouyant enough to not press down without tugging.

Even though I was wearing long pants today (it's Boston, it's winter, it's cold), I knew Kate and I would probably be hitting the changing room at some point, so I scraped my legs before heading out to meet her at Copley Place.

Anyway, we did a little shopping. She's got brothers and sisters and a boyfriend to shop for, so she's lucky. She didn't see it that way, telling me I should be thankful for all the money I'm saving without them. And I thought girls were supposed to be the ones who loved shopping. Maybe it only applies to shopping for themselves. I took the opportunity to discretely get her sizes; maybe I'll come back after work tomorrow.

One thing that I noticed walking around was the number of women wearing skirts and heels even though it's December. Kate made a comment that, it's Boston, half of them were probably at church earlier, but still... It just doesn't seem practical. Sure, pantyhose is an unexpectedly good insulator and women seem better suited for the cold than men (or maybe Michelle's body just deals with it better than mine; it's sort of like saying "my headache is worse than yours", how can you compare such subjective things), but, man, you're still exposing yourself to some pretty chilly winds in the name of vanity.

Guess there's still some "if I was a woman, I wouldn't" sentences I can still live up to.

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