The Birth of Ms. Ren

The little things in life are what I obsess over. The entire planet could be burning down around me and I wouldn’t have a care in the world. However, move my little spiral notebook on the corner of my desk by an inch, and my head will explode. I will spear you with a rusty nail in the eyeball if you move my shit out of place. You’ve been warned. I will hunt you to the ends of the world if you turn the cans in my cupboard the wrong way and I make no reservations about my utter hate for this. Touch my food on my plate and I will devour your soul. Does that food look delicious? Let’s see how delicious it is when I drive a fork through your hand and give it a couple good hard deep twists. And don’t get me started on serving me runny eggs. I will vomit from the kitchen to your bed while simultaneously cursing you out in ten languages. It will be a horror story that your grandchildren will pass on to their children.

A name is a simple little thing, right? It’s small but has huge power. It has weight and a certain brevity. It lives on long after the physical body is gone. Do you think people calling me Ms. Ren bothers me? Not in the least. How does this one little thing not bother me, when I wish to rain down death on my enemies for every other small injustice? Because Ms. Ren was born the day I was, and I’ve learned to accept my inner woman. She is a sexy, sultry, Hispanic woman who can convince a priest to sin. “Oh Pappi, nooosss, but I chot other options to wet chour lips” (giggle giggle). She is my alter ego, a strong sassy elderly black woman. She will get everything she desires over the phone with a quick “You need Jesus” or a pointed church going, bible thumping, “God bless you, baby”. I call her Ms. Ena when asked, but my real friends know it’s Ms. Ren. She is a loving, thick as stew accented Southern cowbell, who says “Yonder” and “Over there a tick”. She will have a rodeo stud begging for forgiveness for speaking the wrong way to such a classy, diamonds only lady.

My voice has been soft and light all my life. I was often mistaken for a woman over the phone, through a fast food speaker or even an email. I guess most people think Ren is a girl’s only name. It’s not. Here is your bit of schoolin’ for the day. Wren is used for girls and Ren is used for boys. Thank you Kylo Ren for making my name otherworldly awesome. I have a kick ass name, and I own it. I use it like a superpower, and I make no excuses for bending it to my will. You want me to be a lady? I’ll be a lady, if it helps you to be nicer to me on the phone or stops you from being an asshole to the next person I transfer you to.

The little things in life can be aggravating, stressful and bring you down. Don’t let them. Smile, laugh, and move forward. Be the best version of yourself every day. If I had known this little secret as a kid maybe I wouldn’t be so obsessive compulsive now as an adult. The little things in life are important and they matter. I’m not discounting them but I’m looking at them in a new light. I’m getting a little better at not freaking out when my keys are not in my wooden giraffe bowl, or my shoes are not next to each other, or my T-shirts are folded instead of rolled, or when the dogs fart, or when Josh uses wire hangers for my dress slacks. No wire hangers! Calm down Ren. Breath. If you, the reader, look closer at the little things in your life, maybe you’ll find a little piece of Ms. Ren in yourself. Listen to her. Learn from her. Love her. You will be a better person for it. That’s what I call… Renning.