Disappointment

Last updated on: August 22, 2014 at 3:56 pm by Rebecca Frech

Disappointment 2014-08-22T15:56:44-05:00 Rebecca Frech

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People keep asking me about my trip to Cincinnati. Was it exciting? What did I do? What did I wear? How cool was it?

I fear that I am disappointing them. I just don’t know what they want me to say. It was interesting. I met a fascinating woman, Dr. Donna Harrison. If you have some free time, you should google her. An Ob/GYN who has made RU-486 her mission. She also, walked away from her medical career to homeschool her 5 children. How cool is that? She was so interesting to hear, I could have listened to her all day. I honestly think they could have done the show with just Donna. I’m just the human interest story.

Being interviewed was just sitting and talking. The host was nice, the crew was great, the producer was one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet. But, it was just a conversation in the kitchen. Sure there were lights and cameras, and I was wearing a ton of make-up, but it was just a 30 minute chat in the kitchen.

I don’t even think I’ll watch it. It was very painful to watch myself on the monitor. I nit-picked all of the things I didn’t like about how I looked or sounded. It brought out the most unattractive narcissism in me. I think it might be a near occasion of sin. I don’t need that. I get tempted enough in my life without adding to it knowingly.

I just feel as if I’m letting people down. As if I should be more excited about it, or dramatically retell everything that happened. Let them live vicariously through me for a moment in time. I’m not really sure what they expect, but I can see the let down clearly on their faces. I’m sorry, if you are one of the people who expected me to tell you that it was glamorous and wonderful.

Here’s what really happened:

I flew to Cincinnati, got slathered with make-up, chatted for half an hour about the death of my child, got on a plane and came home. I missed my family, I got a crick in my neck from the fluffy hotel pillows, and spent 11 hours on planes or in the airport.

I met lots of people including an ex-hippie who decided I wasn’t worth conversation once I gushed that I was thrilled to be crossing the Mason-Dixon line for only the second time in my life; she rolled her eyes and huffed “I’ve been to the south.” Whatever. I’ve been to Berkeley and San Francisco and thought they were cess-pools, I still gave you the benefit of the doubt about being interesting.

I marveled at the good looks and thin-ness of the people going to Ontario and how well dressed they were. They marveled that I could only speak one language. The next plane was going to Chattanooga. Two people got stuck in the airport chairs.

I paid $3 for frozen yogurt in Chicago. It was vile, so I threw it away. We had sandwiches from Panera Bread at the shoot. I’d never eaten there before. They were tasty; I learned I don’t like Asiago cheese.

I decided that I really want one of those deals that automatically wraps the toilet seat in clean plastic for me like they have at the Chicago airport. I have three little boys. Enough said.

I think that covers it all, but if I didn’t tell you something you want to know, please ask. My life is an almost-open book. That’s why I have a blog.

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