Many, many moons ago when Will and I “hooked up” initially, I was actually his boss at Barnes and Noble. I worked day in and day out schlepping huge boxes and piles of books throughout our 2 story mega-store in heels. I literally worked my ass off once I was made a manager. On one occasion, one of the employees gave me one of those pedometers just to see how far I traveled throughout the store in a typical shift. 18,000 steps was my record. But I digress.
Any bibliophile who’s ever moved knows that a typical box of books has some heft to it. Moving these things around (think John Folse’s Encyclopedia of Cajun Cuisine or the last few Harry Potter books) takes some effort, and builds some muscles. Think Madonna arms (and I’m talking younger, 30- and 40-something Madonna – not the scary dried up hag Madonna we all see now). Once I left the world of book retail behind, I also had to bid adieu to my arms. They’ve been uninspiring ever since.
Now I have a kid. And not just any kid, but a very healthy and robust little girl. And this little girl has days where she will not tolerate being put down. When you add the mass of a baby carrier and diaper bag (on those days when we venture out), that’s some weight.
Even on those days when I leave the little girl and her accoutrements at home and return to my grown-up world at the office, I find myself laden down as if I were a pack mule. Each work day requires the following: purse (normal), packed lunch (again, normal), laptop more days than not (due to telecommuting), and breast pump (visualize a stylish black faux leather case about the size of a laptop). Once I put my arms through all of these straps and have it all loaded on my shoulders to walk from the parking garage to my office, I feel like Randy in a Christmas Story: I can’t put my arms down.
At least I’m hoping that once again I shall have arms worthy of admiration (no, not in that Over the Top kind of way).