The Gerber Girl
Today as the Valium slips through my veins,
I am calmer.
I do not yell at the man in front of me, who,
rather than making a left
on a green light,
waits for the arrow.
Nor do I flip out when the girl at the grocery store
cuts in front of me with her basket of coconut water.
I smile at the woman next to me who is blaring some offending music
from her green I-pod.
And I forgive the child with the miniature cart who runs over my foot
without a thought.
After all, it’s the holidays.
We are all supposed to be nice to each other, right?
It’s bad Karma to do anything else.
At least that’s what my yoga teacher tells me.
Don’t be nice just to be nice,
do it for your Karma.
How very yoga!
So, as I make my way through my errands,
I am careful not to do anything that could potentially bring more strife to myself.
At Trader Joe’s, I watch a girl hugging some friend she hasn’t seen in months.
She is carrying pink Gerber daisies in one hand and a fruit cake in the other.
And though I don’t know her, I can tell
she is one of those perpetually smiley people.
Always happy and cheery.
I walk past her,
standing there in her burgundy coat with her little brown boots,
and I think to myself,
I want to be that girl.
No, really,
I want to be that girl.
The girl who brings sunshine.
The girl everyone is happy to see.
Little Miss Daisy.
I think about pulling her aside and asking her her secret.
Are you on something?
Herbal or prescription?
How do you do it?
Are you faking it?
Or are you really that happy?
But I can’t ask her.
She’d think I’m insane.
So I continue on.
I walk past cut vegetables,
hummus, and olive spread,
and eighty kinds of cheese
I’ll never eat.
And right past those little chocolate cakes I think about buying,
but never do,
even on my most pre-menstrual days.
And when I check out,
she is there again,
the Gerber girl,
smiling and sniffing her daisies.
And I am standing in line
behind her,
wishing.
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