Tomorrow is day one at cooking school.
My approach-avoidance was so severe that after three months of reminding my mother that she would be watching the kids on Wednesdays so I could attend class, I had not applied, gone to orientation, nor enrolled.
I was lying on the couch paralyzed while my mom chirped into the phone, “Well, am I coming on Wednesday or not?”
“I’m not sure.”
“What do you mean?” (Always a difficult question to answer when your mom’s a shrink.)
“I’ll call you back.” Click. Brief pause.
Joe shuffled to the den begrudgingly. “What?”
“Please call the cooking school. Please. Please. Please?!?!?!” I couldn’t make the call myself.
“Gimme the number,” he said with an almost audible roll of the eyes.
The Wednesday class was full, but he enrolled me in the Monday night class. Mom was sure to be annoyed. 6-10pm on Monday nights with three kids, and Joe’s at MBA class that night? When will she have time to drink?
“Mom’s going to hate that.”
“Hello, Ali? The Wednesday class is full. She’s enrolled Monday nights. It starts tomorrow. Is that doable? Yeah. I’ve got class. Uh-huh. Mmmm. I know. Okay. Cool. Thanks. Why me? She’s having approach-avoidance. Yeah. Ha ha ha. Yeah, I know. Thanks. Bye”
I was in.