Mrs. Cellophane Shoulda Been My Name

Little known fact: I was a musical theater major my first year of college. Really. With a small vocal scholarship to boot.

And I love music. But you already knew that. I wish my life were a Broadway musical where people just break into song. (Unabridged girl reminded me of this with her post, Life: The Musical) I hum so much around the house my husband calls me his hummingbird.

I love the song Mister Cellophane from Chicago. I have felt like this so many times in my life.

I’m one of those drivers that actually allows X amount of car lengths between me and the next car. I hate tailgaters. And, as a result, people are always cutting in front of me or cutting me off. I shout, “Do I have a sign on my back that says Walk All Over Me?” My husband just laughs and calls me his favorite doormat.

When my in-laws are in town I’m made keenly aware of how transparent I can be. They’re talkers. And interrupters. So 8 or 9 times during their visit I’ll start to add something to the conversation and they’ll trounce all over me – so I’ll pause, waiting to finish. But my time never comes. And they don’t even realize I had a story to finish. And it always takes me the 8 or 9 times before I finally just stop talking. I become the Amazing-Listener-Who-Hangs-On-Your-Every-Word-Daughter-In-Law.

Instead, I just feel like Mrs. Cellophane. It really shoulda been my name.

“..’cause you can look right through me
Walk right by me
And never know I’m there!”