Setting: 5:30 am, on the jet way boarding an airplane
Characters: 5 high school students and two coaches (one of them is me)
Situation: Heading to Dallas, Texas, for the Forensics National Tournament. HS students are people watching and commenting on all the women’s “bling” and my complete and total lack of it.
Student #1: [turns to coach #1/me] “Mrs. Isaman, you should write a memoir and title it ‘My life is Beige.'”
Student #2: “Yaaaaa, that is sooo true!!” [everyone laughs, for waayyy too long]
Coach #1 (me): Ouch
Beige? Really? Am I so completely lackluster and bling-less? Apparently to the 16-18 year old set, I am. I spent the entire flight pondering this. What exactly is a beige life? Is beige boring, or reliable and stable? Dull or consistent?
I’ll go with reliably consistent and choose those words with a positive connotation. I tried hard not to take offense, but then I considered the alternative. If I wasn’t beige, perhaps they’d have suggested the title to my memoir be “My life is Puce.” Then I’d automatically figure they had some deep seated hatred for me, and I’d worry about why.
Or they could have titled my memoir “My life is an Animal Print” at which point I would instantly picture some super blinged out, forty year old with frosted hair and tits that were perkier than theirs . . . a cougar, trying way too hard – not a pretty picture when I’m spending the week traveling with high school students. Sounds like some character in a novel (or on Glee) but not me, thank God.
After a little introspection, perhaps beige isn’t bad at all. I think I’ll take it, without getting down on myself for my consistently reliable and even keel nature, but as for my memoir, I’ve still got a few years of living before I tackle that project, and maybe by then, the title will be “My life as a Blingy Senior Babe,” you just never know.