The Dawning of a New Era*

A certain handsome young man innocently pointed out to me this weekend that I haven't blogged in an eternity.

"Yes, I know!" I snapped in reply. "I haven't had anything to write about, okay?"

Did he deserve this attitude? No. Why did I do it?

At his acknowledgement of my lack of writing, the guilt that I've been suppressing broke forth and swept over me like a tidal wave. I've let my faithful readers down for almost two weeks! How are they coping without a daily dose of Miriam's witty commentary on her life as a fabulous socialite in the exciting town of Macon? If the Sex and the City girls are NYC's "Glitterati", then I am this place's equivalent. And it is my obligation, my "noblesse oblige", if you will, to let others in on what my life is like.

Excuses? No. A mere apology is all I have to offer for my negligence. Please, my adoring fans, forgive me.

HA! Seriously, folks, sorry I haven't written. I've not felt an ounce of inspiration lately. Not an ounce, that is, until now! What is it that's inspired me, you ask? Something simple. Something everyday. Something wonderful.

An eyelash curler.

Huh? That's right, my friends. An eyelash curler. Perhaps it wasn't so much the item itself as it was the location in which this particular tool was found: the ladies' bathroom in the teachers' lounge.

I know you are all wondering where in the heck this is going. Bear with me, okay?

Think back on your past experience with middle and high school teachers. What is the pervading image? If your education was anything like mine, you're conjuring up the middle-aged, frumpy, makeup-less spinsters with short, no-nonsense hair and personalities to match. They're wearing jumpers or rompers or something equally as waist-less and comfortable, black (or taupe) orthopedic shoes, and an appliqued sweater adorned with an "I love my teacher" apple pin. If they were feeling particularly festive and feminine when they dressed in the darkness of the early morning, they might be wearing apple button covers to match. Lovely.

So what does the eyelash curler in the faculty restroom have to do with anything? Everything! As my eyes fell on the object perched atop the paper-towel dispenser, I felt pride swell up in my heart for my fellow teachers. Would any of those antitheses-of-all-style-women from back in our day have EVER used an eyelash curler? Would they have even known what an eyelash curler was? I'd be willing to bet not.

So, the eyelash curler, to me, signified a change that is taking place in the world of female teachers. No longer can one assume that, should her chosen profession be teaching, a girl will live out her days wearing shapeless clothes, styling dull and lifeless (and -heaven forbid- unhighlighted) hair, donning her very ordinary glasses to read a very ordinary book in the quietness of a very ordinary and lonely apartment, and keeping up conversation with no one but her two very bored cats.

No, my dear friends. The new teacher is above that. The new teacher owns (and uses!) an eyelash curler. Hope springs eternal!

(*This post written by a spinster teacher who lives alone in an ordinary apartment, reading ordinary books and talking to her bored cats for entertainment. Her latest undertaking, as of last Wednesday night, is learning how to knit. Take all of her assertions and self-righteous ramblings, therefore, with a grain of salt.)