Prittyprittyprittypritty peggy sue.... (orig. published on myspace, April 5, 2006)


Well, today I left work about 2 hours early to scoot (literally, one-tiny-shuffle-forward-at-a-time, in traffic for 30 minutes both ways) out to Annandale to meet my new "friend." I have volunteered to teach a brain injured woman how to ride horses. At first I thought this was going to be totally easy: show up at the stables, ride for free because I'm a volunteer, make small-talk with brain injured woman. Then it got more complicated. And more complicated. And more expensive. And then I managed to completely blank on my criminal history check meeting with the sponsoring organization - TWICE. The third time, I was 30 minutes late (shocker) and they nearly gave up on me. But not today! Today I was early. I've made up my mind I'm doing this: screw the traffic, the cost, the aggravating small print, the fact that the sponsoring organization thinks I'm a bad person, the fact that they can only meet with me during prime working hours so that I have to use up my annual leave for the meetings, the fact that my "friend" is older than my mom... screw it all. I like horses, I like volunteering, and if I had a major brain injury, I'd love it if some young'un with a car would take me out on a Saturday for a ride in the country. I'm doing my part!!
Turns out, she's adorable. I mean, she is SO cute. (I've got to come up with a new word. I can't keep saying "cute" all the time as if I have no other means of expressing my affection for something... like I have the vocabulary of a 13 year old valley girl). Her name is Peggy. She's in her mid-50's. She was all gussied up for the visit: matching silk capris and jacket, Hepburn-worthy scarf tied around her neck, hair rolled and bouncy curly. She had set out a spread for her guests: three bottles of pink lemonade, three miniature cans of ginger ale, three cups with ice, three coasters - all lined up perfectly like snack-time soldiers). Peggy used to sell computers, she tells me straightaway, while she's still shaking my hand. But then she got in a horrible accident at her sister's wedding in 1982, involving an assailant, a knife, and unforgiving oncoming traffic. Her family thought she'd die. "And I can prove it!" she says, eyes widening, as if I would think she was making that up. She let go of my hand and with both hands pulled her shirt out of her tidy blue silk capris and lifted it nearly over her head to reveal a long, deep, hideous scar that stretched the length of her torso. I knew the story already (I was prepped); the flashing was a bonus. The scar wasn't cute. Not.At.All. But I thought her need to take her shirt off in the first 3 minutes of our introduction kind of was. That she trusted me. That she wanted me to know her story.
Another thing about Peggy: she curses like a sailor. She has a sweet voice, she says one nice thing after another, gushing like a kid ("Oh, I LOVE horses! I'm SO excited! Thank you SO much!") and then the next minute she'll bring up some grievance she has with society and the curse words start flowing ("MetroAccess vans are s--t! What a piss-poor operation! They made me wait 45 minutes at CostCo when I had to pick up my medicines! They're a g-- d--- disaster!". Ha. Then she has all kinds of old lady things she says, like, "I don't like to do things early in the morning cuz it takes me a while to get my rear in gear!" Gotta love that. Peggy, it takes me a while to get my rear in gear, too. All day long, a perpetual effort to get my rear out of neutral.
We're going riding on April 29 in Rock Creek Park. Peggy has requested that she get a horse with a little "spunk" and "get up and go!"