Trixie is my inner brat.
She’s obstinate, argumentative and can rationalize with the best of them. Sometimes I think Trixie should have gone to law school.
But, alas, she stuck with me and lives in my head.
She’s the one who talks me into chocolate instead of broccoli. She’s the one who says, “Just one more won’t hurt our diet…It’s only one…C’mon, live a little!”
So, when Grace (the new inner ballerina) moved into my brain recently, Trixie wasn’t havin’ any of it. She wanted that chick to just pack up her cute l’il tutus and ballet slippers and get on outta my head. Trixie knew that Grace would have us eating broiled chicken and broccoli, stopping at one piece of pizza, and hitting the gym religiously.
I had to have a sit-down with the two of them. Grace kept threatening to toss Trixie’s beloved Coach wristlet out the car window if she didn’t shape up. Trixie retaliated with her own threats of only eating Late Night Taco flavored Doritos and pizza forever if Grace didn’t shut the Hell up.
Finally, I got them both to see that we can all live happily together. Trixie still gets her pizza and Grace gets her C25K workout 3x a week. Trixie can have a
bottle glass of red wine. Grace can drink her 64 oz of water from a cup the size of her head.
And I can live happily with both of them. Trixie can keep me young at heart, make sure that I don’t
have a corncob stuck up my lose touch with my inner child. Grace can help me stay on track with my running, and my minor non-resolution of eating more vegetables.
And together, we shall live in peace. Well, at least until the next time we pass by a French Silk pie at which time I can totally see Trixie stiff-arming Grace as she makes her play for a decent sized wedge.