A Little Support for Support Groups.

photo 2 (4)I decided to join a support group.  But even though I fit every description of every psychological disorder in every self-help book out there, I couldn’t find a group  that “got me.”  So I figured I would start my own. How hard could it be? Give the younger kids to my ex for the night, put some folding chairs in a circle in my living room, set out some grapes, and throw out a topic. Easy peasy lemon squeazy.  Oh and I might serve lemonade. That was always refreshing.

I put this announcement online:

Hi my name is Little Miss Menopause and I’m starting a support group. I worry a lot so I was thinking of calling it,  WWW– ‘Women Who Worry’  but we can tweak when you get here.

The first two calls were from women worried they didn’t know how to twerk, until I explained what I meant by tweak.

Since this was to be an anonymous support group, I will not use any names to convey the dialogue at our first meeting. It could be any woman saying these things.  And trust me, it was.

Is this for women who worry incessantly and want to stop?  Or for women who feel guilty they don’t worry as much as they should?

Well I worry that what I worry about will actually come true. Kind of like the opposite of “The Secret.”

Can this also be a support group for women who have never read “The Secret?”

How about women who really hate “The Secret?” Secretly, of course.

I recently read somewhere that the act of worrying itself is eventually what we’ll die from.

Ladies, can we get started?  We’ll call it “Women Who Worry Too Much Or Not Enough and Aren’t Sure How They Feel About “The Secret” but Don’t Want to Die.”

And The Men Who Love Them?

No men.  I would need to wear foundation. And my skin really needs to breathe.

How about we focus on Joy instead of worry?  We’ll be The Joy Luck Club.

Kill joy.

When and where will you provide childcare?

That’s just like you!  I knew you would assume that women our age would all be mothers.

Don’t say that.  My name is Anonymous. You don’t even know me.

Well I know you’re catty.

I wish I could be a mother.

I wish I had a mother.

I wish my landlord let me have a cat.

Well, if all 17 of us pitched in, I suppose my eldest daughter could babysit for an hour upstairs. Say $2.00?

If we pitched in $5.00, do you suppose you could hire a housecleaner?

Can you start a support group for women who cannot afford support groups?

Shouldn’t we have said the Serenity Prayer by now?

I think this group could use more tweaking twerking.

Or maybe we could all turn our chairs toward the wall and sit facing away from one another.photo 1-21

After they left, I was exhausted but stayed awake all night tossing and turning.  I toyed with starting another support group for women with insomnia. But when would we meet? We’d be too tired during the day from being up all night. We could meet evenings, but we’d want to turn in early to try and fall asleep. Finding a convenient time was definitely a worry.

To distract myself, I read slips of paper I had all the women leave in the Suggestion Box before they left. It was mainly filled with more names of support groups they were suggesting I start.

  • Women Who Are Mean To Other Women At Support Groups
  • Women With Teenage Daughters
  • Women Without Teenage Daughters
  • Women Wanting To Trade Teenage Daughters
  • Women Who Have Lost Their Mothers (we should open with saying, “I’m sorry for your loss”)
  • Women Who Have Lost Their Mothers to Mahjong, Rummy Cube, and Other Games Seniors Get Obsessed With Today That are Considered Hip.
  • Women Who Hate Their Hips.
  • Women Who Have Lost Their Keys, Cell Phones or Glasses (should probably still open with saying, “I’m sorry for your loss.”)
  • Women Who Are Authentic
  • Women Who Hate Women Who Always Say the word, “Authentic”
  • Women Who Start a Support Group Just so they Can Have Something New to Blog About (I knew I recognized one of my WordPress followers sitting away from the group on my purple couch!)
  • Husbands Who Have Wives Who Go to Support Groups To Talk About Them and Are Afraid to Go To Work the Next Day and the Secretaries Who Love Them
  • Children Whose Mothers Cannot Drive Them Anywhere Because They Are Constantly in Support Groups
  • Couples Who Can’t Talk To One Another (We could meditate)
  • Couples Who Can’t Stop Fighting and the Therapists Who Love them.

And there was one question:

Will you ever have anything to eat other than grapes and lemonade?  I have IBS.  It would be refreshing if you could serve other refreshments.

At the next meeting I decided to do more of the talking and be more bold.

Thank you all for coming back.  I wonder if some of you feel as exhausted as I do.  I was thinking of starting a group for insomnia but does anyone have a suggestion when a group like that could meet?

In your dreams.

Cute. So I’ve gone over all the suggestions and I’ve decided there’s one name that will encompass everything . . . Ready?  It’s quite brief.   “Dysfunctional Households”

Women Who Grew Up in a Dysfunctional Household or Women Who Create Their Own Dysfunctional Household??

But I live alone.

Uh, I’m a guy, so this might be a typical male question. But by Dysfunctional Households, do you mean when the dishwasher and the floor sweeper break down.

No, I don’t mean appliances. I mean people.

Well I AM the dish washer and the floor sweeper.

Welcome to our group.

Great.  Just great. Does anyone have foundation in a porcelain beige shade I can borrow?

After they all went home, I knew I would never mention it, but secretly I would change the name to “Women Who Start Support Groups To Feel Important But Instead Feel Put Out.”

And as far as worrying?  I was no longer concerned at all.  I now had plenty of new material for months of blogs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

Move Over “Toy Story…” Here’s Some Food For Thought!

The worst kind of abuse!

The worst kind of abuse!

Oscar:  Come to order, please.  We’re about to hear from Betty, our first brave guest speaker of the day, (a mixed-up victim who was beaten by a stir-crazy individual.  Then she was whipped, burned, and hot candle wax was dripped on her while a roomful of people sang a happy chorus) But first I’d like to make a motion to change the name of our support group.  We know about Drug and Alcohol Abuse, falling under the umbrella of “Substance Abuse.”  So I thought we could call ourselves. . .

Betty:  (groaning)  Oh please.  Not “Grubstance Abuse.”  That is just so cheesy.

Oscar Meyer:  Simmer down.  I suppose you have a batter idea, Mrs. Crocker?

Betty:  Yes!  We want our just desserts.  Not everyone is light and white like an Angel cake.  There is some Devil’s food out there too.  And that’s pudding it mildly. We’ve got to stop this black and white thinking.  If only we could have marbled cake everyday.

Oscar Meyer:  Well, you can’t have your cake and eat it too.

Betty:  (challenging)  You wanna piece of me??

Oscar Meyer:  Mrs Crocker?  You really take the cake.  Moving on.  Yes?  You have the table floor, Minnie.

Minnie – – (tiny voice)  Sorry, I know that was just the icing on the cake.  But all of us – –  Mini-muffins, mini quiche, mini tacos, mini crabcakes and mini hotdogs – – (oh dear,  I hope I didn’t leave out any delicious hors d’oevres?) – – we are so tired of being discriminated against as appetizers, sometimes even called Appeteazers!  Bite-Size can be a real meal, too.

Oscar Meyer:  We’ll have to put that on the back-burner for now.  But please don’t think I’m taking it with a grain of salt.  The children’s portion issue is no small potatoes and causes more than a little damage to your elf-esteem.  Next up, I see we have a drinking problem

Smooth Talker:  The trend of mixing fruit, yogurt and ice (who feels totally crushed, by the way) together, then selling it as a Smoothie has really caused us some Blender Confusion.  And the mixture should be gray, but maybe a little more slate, so we’re taken seriously.

Oscar Meyer:  What’s the difference?  Gray or Slate?  You’re still healthy.  And your point?  Besides just juicy conversation?

Smooth Talker:  If we poured our hearts out in a fancy dessert dish and served it with a spoon instead of a straw – – Maybe we could hold a “Parfait Pride Parade.”

Oscar Meyer:  Yeah, I’m gonna have to put an Enda to your Blenda Agenda.  Next!

Egbert:  (exclaiming)  I’d like to expose my extensive expertise to examine an example of extreme exploitation and extermination of Eggs.  We’re not exactly being coddled or lightly steamed, you know.  Sometimes we’re also cracked open, beaten, separated and then smothered.  Everyone thinks that it’s over-easy for us.  But our philosophy is spare the rod, (soft)boil the child.

They make an eggcellent case!

They make an eggcellent case!

Oscar Meyer:  Thank you.  But the Eggistentionalist group meets down the hallway.

Filbert:  Can I cashew you a question?

Oscar Meyer:  If almond-erstanding you correctly, anyone nut taking allergies seriously will end up in a peanutentiary.  I walnut tolerate jokes.  We’re hot on the trail (mix) of repeanut offenders.  What’s next on our schedule?

Splenda Sucralose:  It’s the Artificial Sweeteners, Sir.  We’re not allowed in any songs.

Oscar Meyer:  Oh c’mon now, Honeybunch.

Splenda Sucralose:  It’s true, Sir.  The Sugar-Free population is getting the torte end of the stick.

Oscar Meyer:  How so, Sweetheart?

Splenda Sucralose:  We’re not mentioned in The Archies song (Sugar, Sugar – You Are My Candy Girl) and we never got to bid “Bye-Bye” to Miss American Pie.  Not to mention Mary Poppins banned us by the spoonful from helping the medicine go down.

Let the chips fall where they may!

Let the chips fall where they may!

Nabisco:  Well I find that a bit hard to swallow.  There’s no life harder than that of a chocolate-chip cookie.  Sorry if I spoke out of turn, but this is my first time here.

Oscar Meyer:  Ha!  He’s new. Well, that’s the way the Rookie crumbles, my man.  And you don’t really have any bargaining chips here.  Let’s see, our next order of business . . . We’re skipping Breakfast, because the toast has gone awry, (he figured out which side his bread was buttered on) but can anyone give the other food groups a lift back to their house?

Lox:  Yes,  I can bring home the bacon.  But while we’re talking about the most important meal of the day, I’m campaigning to save the smoked salmon from mating with cream cheese. There are plenty of other fish in the sea, you know – –  bagels should be more open-minded.

Oscar Meyer:  I don’t mean to poke a hole in your theory, but there’s very little margarine of error.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, We’re out of thyme, so we’re going to move on to the most important topic for me.   Hot-Dogs.  A ridiculously overlooked source of protein.

Samuel Adams:  But Sir, we never got to discuss any alcoholic beverages.

Spuds:  Or the difference between regular potatoes or sweet potatoes.

Hebrew National:  And Kosher Products?

Oscar Meyer:  Frank-ly  My Beer, I don’t give a Ham! (or a Yam!)

Lox to Betty (hushed voices)  Someday he’s gonna find out Life isn’t an “All You-Can-Meat” buffet.

Ketchup on the Gossip!

Ketchup on the Gossip!

Spuds to Chip (whispering) Yeah, nobody’s gonna save his buns when he meets his maker baker.

Scallions/Shallots  (re-scentfully)  Hey everybody!  Now that you woke up and smelled the coffee,  I’m starting a new group out of my kitchen.  It’s called “So What Am I. . . Chopped Liver?  (& Onions?)

 

Have you written a personification piece?  They really make me smile!  Feel free to link yours in my comments if you wanna share with others.  Oh and check out this recent terrific one about dogs!  Not hot-dogs – – canines!

http://theundergroundwriter.wordpress.com/2014/04/06/what-dogs-think-about-humans/