Walking Dichotomy

Dichotomy, a term often used, but rarely to describe a human being. I however hear it often, and always in some form to describe me. Webster’s dictionary lists it as something with seemingly contradictory qualities. I am indeed that something. Few know how exactly I can be the way that I am, or even understand it. I myself have no idea, it just kind of happened. Odd way to open a blog perhaps, but the theme of my life rolls ever onward and as I meet and greet new people who become part of my life, the more I hear this. I actually heard it again today, and when I did it got the wheels in my head turning.

You see, you being whichever soul chooses to spend your leisure time investing in the words I have typed out and set loose across the internet to form some relatively cohesive explanation to no one in particular about how a person, such as myself can be the named “Leader of all that is cute and fuzzy” and yet all in the same breath spend hours on a range shooting at wee pictures of bunnies which I have Xeroxed off and stapled to a backstop. I have no real desire to kill bunnies, at least not those who are not made of paper. However I do enjoy target shooting a great deal and spend much of my leisure time doing just that. People tend to get cranky when I draw other things on my targets, and quite frankly bunnies have numerous fuzzy pieces that make mini targets when drawn with a zestful crafting. I am fully aware all of you paper bunny lovers that I could very well draw circles and shoot at those. To you all I say, get a grip, they’re not real, I drew it I can shoot it if I wish. *insert charming smile and a flutter of eyelashes here* They are only paper after all. I like to think of them in the same fashion as the bunny from the Monty Python movie the Holy Grail. In essence I am doing the world a favor by ridding it of the killer paper bunnies, which left unchecked, could very well take over the world! *waits for the background music* Dun dun dun.

I am a woman, as you may very well have guessed who feels perfectly at home in a bikini top, pair of Daisy Dukes, walking barefoot out to the range in my backyard to fire off a few thousand rounds of ammunition to relax. I can picture the perplexed look. All I can do is shrug. See above…walking dichotomy, women in bikini tops and Daisy Dukes should not be firing loaded handguns, yeah I get that, however, that’s what I enjoy.

I also enjoy dressing to kill. Each Friday night my husband takes me dancing. If when I walk out of the bedroom and he doesn’t gasp at the dress and heels I have chosen for the occasion and blink twice slowly while trying not to swallow his tongue, I have failed in my mission. I quite frankly desire to see the man I have spent the last twenty years with drop jawed and eye popping as I ask ever so innocently if he has the keys. After we go dancing, and he asks me where I want to go to eat, my preference is not what most would expect. I would much prefer a nice grilled cheese sandwich from our local hut of a diner on the way home, oh and a creamsicle milkshake too. He finds it amusing to go and sit there at one of the picnic tables while we eat. The looks are rather classic, a fine mix of confusion and questioning, and downright staring. When finished I take his arm and walk in my stiletto heels across the sand and gravel parking lot back to our car. This to me is a divine night. I’m perfectly wiling to spend a few hundred dollars at an upscale eatery, but sometimes the simpler things in life are more enjoyable.

I’m aware it doesn’t make sense. I’ve been told that I have a commanding presence, even in a bikini. It’s from years on the job. I was a cop a long time. Apparently I walk like a cop. I was somewhat surprised when I heard this the first time and immediately denied it. My husband smiled and said simply, “Yes you do.” To which I of course being female replied, “No I do not! ….err what does that mean exactly?” Apparently I walk with purpose, and despite my lack of direction, I admit I have zero sense of direction unless I am entirely familiar with the area and know the landmarks, walk as if I am going in the obviously right direction. This is true. I can’t really deny that. I can try but it would be a poor attempt and should anyone who actually knows me read it they would know it was grossly false if I said otherwise. I do indeed walk like a cop, in stiletto heels mind you and in one hell of a hot dress, but a cop none the less. I also walk fast. I want to get to my destination; I don’t meander, or stroll. I walk with a mission. Apparently this is another weird thing, or people find it weird. Unless you’re in sneakers this is I guess a no-no. Go figure.

I can hang out with the guys, talk sports, cars, and poker, take all their money in night long Texas hold-em games that end in the very wee hours of the morning as the sun comes up, all the while making more food than an army could eat and making sure it’s all served on matching plates of whichever holiday we happen to be celebrating at the time, and have the entire thing cleaned up and the house looking like it a magic fairy came in and sparkled it clean before the last guest has their coat on, then see the others who are staying the night have their beds turned down and they are situated inside or at least atop them before crawling into bed with my husband at last. Yes I admit I know the scores of all the games, know the players and actually understand what all of it means, I can describe in detail a nickel defense, and can also tell you that it was the Miami Dolphins who started it in the 70’s to stop the pass. My husband isn’t a sports nut, he rarely watches sports at all, but when you work in a male dominated job for as long as I did, you pick things up. I know how to rebuild a car, clean a carburetor, change my own oil and transmission fluid, and yet I refuse to pump my own gasoline. I hate the smell. I have not pumped my own gas in so long I can’t even remember when I did last.

I know full well none of this makes any sense. I can’t even explain why or how most of this is the way that it is, just…that it is. I am strange. Walking dichotomy many have said and I suppose it’s true. I’m not entirely convinced. Maybe I’m normal and they’re the weird ones, but most likely not. I’m sure that I’m not alone, or even remotely special in this way, but many find it odd. Maybe I’m just like Shrek in his onion-ness, although I have yet to find a talking donkey, but I do have a wee Pug who would surely give him a run for his money.