SYNGRINISITY by Wendy Reichental

Wendy Reichental

Wendy Reichental works as a secretary by day but at night she is an avid reader and aspiring “life/humorist” writer. She holds a Bachelor of Arts degree from McGill University in Montreal and worked as a reflexologist before returning to her day former day job as a secretary at the Centre for Continuing Education at McGill. She also recently created her own blog titled “Foible Gal.”

My mother used to tell me to apply lipstick even when I step outside to take out the garbage. But in my twenties the need to be prepared for the unexpected was not an issue, even without a stitch of makeup and tousled just-woke-up hair, my radiant youth inoculated me against worrying about such things. Now in my forties, and not that quite stoked for life’s surprises, I find myself constantly trying to be prepared. In fact my purse now bears the burden of this weight of worry I like to carry around.

You can guess a woman’s age by looking at the size of her purse. The bigger the purse the older the woman, and the more items she needs in her purse to stay prepared; there are a variety of incidentals that make up her baggage; like a larger cosmetic bag, to hold a myriad of sample-size creams and moisturizers for those laugh lines and crow’s feet emergencies. Then you have the reading glasses she now needs to read application instructions or directions on all those tiny tubes and, honestly, everything! Unlike a girl in her twenties who is good to go with a postage stamp size clutch containing one tampon and a lipgloss!

So, with all this wisdom of the importance of being ready for the unexpected, how I could have left the house on this one unassuming day so completely unkempt and out of sync is beyond my comprehension.

Like millions of other middle-aged women, I woke up slightly groggy and fatigued, my mind working on a mental list for groceries. I forced myself out of bed, but for some reason on this particular day decided to forego a shower or a gender and merely ran my fingers through my hair, threw on a worn t-shirt which I mismatched with my Lululemon yoga pants -- ironic that I own a pair in the first place since I don’t do any actual yoga unless you count wearing a necklace with the word Namaste on it.

Since I didn’t wash my hair, I relied on my favorite knitted-style baseball cap, to give me that edge and style I was obviously going for. I like to wear the hat just slightly off to the side for the hip factor. (Ladies, quick tip, if you are past 40 and sporting this look, the only thing you have going on that is hip-related is that you have an unbroken one!) I grabbed my car keys, but not before preparing two Tylenols for a headache I could feel coming on, and my antibiotic for a urinary tract infection I had come down with a couple of days ago. The bitter pills and truth of it was that I definitely was not feeling my best but forged on disparagingly anyway.

I entered the over illuminated grocery store, with my now full-blown pounding head, green complexion and matching environmentally approved Green bags. I robotically started placing items in the carriage; since I don’t hit the gym at least I make it a point to walk up and down and hit every aisle. And hit is exactly what I did except that this time what I hit was another carriage belonging to another shopper!

As I lifted my chin in a drone-like manner to make the attempt to say I was sorry, my eyes slowly scanned a man’s physique (which I wasn’t expecting) and, as my eyes rolled upwards to meet his fixated and startled eyes on me, a certain mutual recognition and horror came over us simultaneously. Mine, however, was accompanied by an added bonus, a most fierce urge to pee and flee! In that one locked moment as our eyes were caught for that synchronized amount of time, I realized that I was staring into the eyes of the voted “Mr. Uber Popular and Handsome” and my ex-boyfriend from our graduating high school class.

Here he was, standing, some twenty five years later, staring into my lunatic eyes. He hadn’t changed. If anything, it looked like his good looks had just gotten more pronounced. And then, as I thought about change, I realized I hadn’t changed into some clean clothes this morning! I stood there mortified as I imagined hearing “reality check in aisle four!” over the PA system.

After I collected myself and managed to remove my hands from covering my face, I muttered his name out loud. We said hi and he looked uncomfortably like a caged nervous creature trying to gnaw his way out. I repeated to myself, “OMG this isn’t happening” as I felt his eyes scan up and down my crumpled, rumpled body.

Luckily, the awkwardness of the situation was disrupted by the sudden appearance of Heidi Klum, otherwise introduced as his wife! Fine. I was feeling a bit delusional -- she wasn’t Heidi, but was no less striking. After a few insincere “great to see you’s and nice to meet you’s,” we dispersed in opposite directions.

I turned into the next aisle, my bladder ready to rupture, and absentmindedly and inadvertently just grabbed something randomly off the shelf to appear normal. And here’s where the forces of nature were having some fun with me … it was cranberry juice! I could not have checked out with my items any faster and hightailed it home in desperate need of bladder and solace relief.

The moral of the story is, if synchronicity (events that are deemed noteworthy and given careful regard or meaningful coincidence) is evidence of some divine intervention, then I believe this supreme source to be a woman with a wicked sense of humor, and a not so subtle way of spreading her gospel. “Women get plenty of antioxidants, make the effort to always look presentable, and, like mama used to say -- put on a dab of lipstick!”