Lisa

Back when I was in undergrad, I had a cure-all solution for the blues: I’d drive to Wendy’s with a girlfriend, order a frosty and pretend that frosty was an Academy Award. In the car, we’d improvise speeches. We’d make our voices catch right after we mentioned our parents. We’d say how we never expected this to ever happen to us. We’d giggle and gush and go through every cliché in the book. By the time we got home, we’d always feel better.

Writing a final post for The Apron Stage makes me crave a frosty. For the last year and a half, this little corner of the internet has been my clean, well-lighted place*. And we always need more of those in our lives, don’t we?

I never considered myself much of a writer before Rebecca roped me into being Tuesday’s child. I blame my childhood: When I was five, my older sister and cousin found my first attempt at poetry entitled “Oh! Oh! It’s Spring!” and (rightfully) mocked me. They might have also discovered my acrostic “Fish” which began with the line “Floating when dead” and laughed as they rolled on the floor. Cheryl and Lee, how could you squelch such buds of brilliance? How?!

A redemptive moment found its way into my weekend when I attended a friend’s bridal shower in New York. I hadn’t seen many of the attendees since I left for Phoenix. Their first question was the same: What are you writing right now? Those words did good things for my little soul.

I’ve always wanted to hold an Academy Awards party for my friends.  Not the kind where you guess which movie will win Best Picture—my Wendy’s kind. Everyone could dress up in their fanciest and I could give frosties all around.** I’d announce each winner. We’d all jump up and down and clap as the winner would walk to the podium to receive their frosty.

Last week someone asked how we could have a virtual good-bye party. Well, I vote you all write your acceptance speeches in the comment section below. (And, if you really want to get into it, post a link to what you’re wearing to our virtual party.) Because you just won a virtual frosty for being fabulous. Congratulations.

*I think Hemmingway wrote a short story with this title. But I’ve never read it. I hope it’s not about dead puppies or anything.

**Imagine a slightly less dysfunctional version of the Dundies.

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