Marcy

Marcy, Marcy, Marcy…..be careful what you ask for…you just might get it. My dear friend, Marcy, read my first blog and asked “When will I be mentioned in one of your blogs?” Muhahahaha…..I do hope this blog does her justice. Don’t hold your breath. Where to begin, though??

Marcy is somewhat of a local celebrity, much to her chagrin. When you are a little person in a town with maybe 2 or 3 little people, you tend to be remembered. People ask you stupid questions, and say stupid things to you. She hates the question “Do you know the Roloff’s?” (The famous family on TLC’s Little People, Big World) I think she should just say “Why don’t you rolloff??” She knows of them, has never met them. She was once in a dressing room, trying on a pair of jeans. The helpful sales woman looked at her and the extra 2 feet of leg fabric and politely informed Marcy that she would have to get them shortened. Marcy replied with the obvious “I know”, and the poor woman quickly realized her stupidity, and felt embarrassed. If I had been there I would’ve said, “Oh, she’ll just roll them up”. Or, “She usually wears high heels. This length will be fine with heels.” Children love Marcy. They light up when they see her. I told her she should dress up like Santa. That would blow their minds! An old drunk dude at the VFW really loved her, too. He was also lit up, but in a different way.

Marcy tends to be on the conservative side, and doesn’t usually stray from her comfort zone. She’s traveled, and leads a full life, but hasn’t lived in a city bigger than Fargo, and is from a small Minnesota town. These traits mean she doesn’t always know what I’m talking about. I was telling her how my jeans don’t fit anymore, and then I joined a gym, and later I mentioned that the gym is next to Gloria Jean’s. “That’s funny, your gym is next to a jean store!” No, Marcy. Gloria sells coffee, not denim. “What kind of name is that? How was I supposed to know they sold coffee?!“ By the way, Starbucks is also a coffee shop. I realize the name is misleading and seemingly random. How dare they?

If you want a really good laugh, just watch me try to pull her up into my Ford Escape! We can’t get in and out of it too often in a short time period. The more times she gets in and out of it, the more tired she gets, and the harder we laugh, and it takes longer and longer to get her in. I need to look into installing a running board on the passenger side. I wonder if I can get a discount if I just buy one? She refuses to use a mini-trampoline. Can you say “buzz kill?’ (I’ll explain the definition of that later, Marcy)

A couple other “Marcy-isms”:
“I might be old, but I don’t need glasses!” Um, Marcy? You wear CONTACTS. So technically, yes, you do.
Marcy hates walking ‘all the way to the elevator’ in her apartment building, from her car. So she chooses to walk up 3 flights of stairs. Not a big deal, good exercise. A big deal when you are about three feet tall and carrying 2 bags of groceries and a gallon of milk, or a family sized portion of Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream that you had to walk all over Cash Wise looking for an associate to get it off the top shelf for you.

Don’t worry, though. I do nice things for her to balance out all the making fun of her, and taking advantage of her handicap parking privileges. A couple of times I’ve taken out her garbage so she didn’t have to haul it down three flights of stairs and climb a step stool just to reach the dumpster. And I have hemmed a lot of shirts for her. But not her pants. She just rolls those up.