I know from murmurs the bane of the left-hander's existence. I know the arguments for equality remain moot in the righty's world—and I feel for them. Having been born plagued with a dominant right hand, I cannot know their strife. Yes, I fully agree that you deserve a left-handed computer mouse.

However, it has come to my attention in recent years, growing ever more obvious, that I am left-legged. Socially, I feel it has set me apart from the crowd—and not in a good way—and for all my appearances-based empathy for the lefty's movement (the empathy has a limit—there are college scholarships for the left-handed for Pete's sake!), I cannot help but think with disgust when my dissimilarity emerges, "I'm NOT one of them!"

How do you cross your legs? Right over left, I'll wager. I can't do that. I feel like that Visa debit card commercial that airs so often...this big choreographic show, synchronized to a jaunty tune ...and then there's me disturbing the chorus line. I try to cross my right over my left and continue the lower-body wave down the row of my social party, the domino effect (if you will)...and I wobble unsteadily over my left cheek (you know the one) who is seeped in anxiety over my reassignment of weight. I paste a smile on my face and fight for balance...but it never comes and I make a play for nebulosity as I uncross my legs with practiced calm.

But uncrossed leaves me feeling ever the savage in civilized society, and instinctively, I cross my legs, left over right, kicking my right-side companion and smiling crookedly, eyes laden with unshed tears begging, not to be outed. I hang my head low, and as though I were the pitiable face of a Basset Hound, even my ears seem to droop. It's so hard being different.

Well, firstly, I must say that I never knew car-buying had so many perks. Several weeks have passed now since my experience, but I still remember...I suppose some things, you just can't forget. I went to my aunts' first. I went through the whole experience with them—you know, to make sure I wasn't talked into buying a whatsit or thingamabob that I didn't truly need. Like I know the usual set of whatsits or thingamabobs a car should have!

So anyway, I drive to their house first and I'm showered—just a-showered!—with gifts! They were your standard, run of the mill goodies for me, and goodies which my aunt, Debbie, knew would tickle me senseless—a fresh bundle of grapes and a grouping of brownish, freckled bananas. There was nothing holy about my accompanying moan.

But more still, a gift from Brenda. Brenda ordered a purse. She ordered just a single purse, and per the receipt, paid for just a single purse. Yet, she received two in the mail. Now, some people would say, "Oh, Heavens! I best send this right back to the company, the poor dears! I bet they don't even know! Tut, tut!" I, personally am of the mind that you need to have good quality control in your company and there's no better way to achieve that than error. That, and since Brenda wasn't sending the purse back, she was giving it to me. I deserve a purse I didn't pay for way more than the company who erroneously gave it away. Totally.



She bought the purse, the one she kept, because of the cell phone pouch in front...cute and practical, right? Right. So she tells me she's stuffed the bottom of the pouch with tissues to elevate the phone and making it easier to grab. I smile...that Brenda...

But, I found it disturbing that next week when I found myself folding paper towels to place at the bottom of my phone pouch to elevate my phone...the same model as my aunt's, incidentally. I noticed it more still as we went to my geneticist appointment together the following week, twin dorks with excellent style.

And, (have you noticed I really stretch the rule to the max when beginning sentences with conjunctions?) the next day, when I found myself entertained watching Nick's amusement with squirrel activity as she would have been with her cats', I knew at once I was her paralleled existence. I couldn't tell you which one of us that bothers more—both the statement, and the truth behind it.

My cousin, Nathan, was married yesterday. Two Catholic weddings in one year...uff dah—that's all this Norwegian (and all the Lutheranism that implies) can say. I received instruction from Nick (he was THIS close to being engaged to a devout Catholic sometime pre-Laura) before Jeff and Kara's wedding on what I should and shouldn't do—I had never even been inside of a Catholic church before (and now I've been in two!). It's intimidating...you know that us protesters followed Martin Lutheran away from the 1500's law of the church, we (us Lutherans, Protestants, and the like) became forever known as the lazy Catholics. Not to get all egghead on you, but as the Lutherans played the originality card naming ourselves after that one monk, the Protestants followed suit, deriving their name from "protester". I'm so delighted that the whole Reformation thing didn't totally ruin our relationship with the Vatican. Luckily the Father in yesterday's ceremony dumbed it up for the Lutherans in attendance...i.e., the groom's side.



Nick chauffeured myself and the two best aunts in the world to both the church and the reception. He did this at great sacrifice...the Badgers were playing Penn State. As the fourth quarter commenced, he text messaged Jeff, undoubtedly in attendance at the game, requesting a text message when the game finished, with the score. When he received the "13-3 Badgers" message he practically showed our entire pew with his silent jubilee. Uncomfortable greeting my family the receiving line, having no idea who anyone was (besides perhaps an inkling as to which was the bride and which was the groom), Brenda told Nick that all he had to say as he shook hands was the score of the game. Diligent and wanting to please, I heard him practice his line under his breath even as we walked to the parking lot and en route to the reception.

Wanting to give him a lead in the conversation at our table, Brenda asked over-loud, "Hey! Does anyone know the score of the Badger game!?" Nick wiggled in his chair, straightening to answer, as Barb, Rick, and Corey (my aunt, uncle and cousin respectively) ruined his dramatic effect. Their family came only for the reception, having most probably spent the majority of the day immersed in talk radio, television, and leisure.

Badgers won, thirteen to three, they all said in one way or another, talking over each other in a verbal version of the game leap frog. They went on and on...discussing the plays, the decisions, and generally not shutting up at all. Nick drooped visibly, theatrically. During our post dinner stroll, he snarled to me that he could have given an answer like that, but that "Some of us had a wedding to attend."



I told Jeff last week about the upcoming wedding. He asked me if I knew my cousin well...I told him that I didn't, and that no offense to him and Nick, it was mainly because Nathan (and his brother Thad) were so much older than the rest of the cousins. Age makes a lot more difference the younger you are, naturally. I had to say no offense, because Nathan is a ripe 31, three whole years younger than my friend and my significant other. Nick received quite the ribbing on the day of Jeff and Kara's wedding, mainly at the hand of Jeff's mother, wondering when the bachelor would finally surrender to holy matrimony as his best friend didn't make it to 35 before it captured him. So, naturally, when I told Jeff that my 31-year-old cousin was getting married, his comedic response was to comment that he was a bit young for marriage, wasn't he?



So, my uncle Gary...well, is he still my uncle? He was once married to my mother's sister...in any event, I haven't seen him look at me with recognition in my eyes since he showed up at our home the night I "bought" (read: begged my mother to buy for me) the brand new album from New Kids on the Block, Hangin' Tough. He looked through me like I was a stranger at my mother's wake and when I shook his hand at the receiving line he had the plastic smile on his face that a person crafts when your clueless but pretending otherwise. Nice!

Gary came and bs-ed with my father and brother for awhile, before turning plastic to smile towards me...but then it must have struck...what was this stranger doing sitting at a table of my former in-laws? He sashayed up to me, only the way a past-his-prime player can, "And who are you?" I looked at him pointedly...my aunts looked at him pointedly...I let my gaze drift toward my father and brother and something clicked. "You can't be Laura!" Oh, but I can...trust me. Someday more so than others, but there's always a bit of Laura there. He was a little touchy-feely for my comfort, but I was perfectly at ease when he asked, "Did I hear you got married?"

I smiled broadly...Gary would understand. "Married...AND divorced!" I pointed at Nick. "This one's still in training." He grabbed my left hand to verify and laughed broadly to stay in training...that it's the best part.

There's no better time to diss marriage than at a wedding reception!



Oh, and Nick was bored by the end of the night...and, as you can see, I was irritated. Ah, family bliss! (Thank God I only have to sustain it a few times a year.)