Do you like yourself? Me neither.
I think it’s the way you eat spaghetti that bothers me the most.
Just kidding. But seriously, stop slurping your noodles. Nobody likes a noodle slurper.
Sometimes I wonder who I really am and whether I really do like me. Do all people wonder that or has everybody figured it all out and nobody bothered to send me an email to let me in on it?
Sure, you can send me emails about everything from Bill Gates giving away his millions to anyone on the planet who agrees to believe everything they read; to how to increase the size of my manliness so my woman will stop staring at other guys; to pictures of fluttering fairies that have the power to bring me immediate wealth and health…or to kill me while I’m sleeping if I don’t send them to every person I’ve ever known.
But let somebody figure out the answer to the biggest question in life and mums the word.
I think part of the problem with knowing who I am has to do with the fact that everyone else thinks they know me.
My parents think I’m the ten-year-old girl who cried when one of her brothers clocked her in the head with a rock and made her bleed. (Still have the scar, by the way.) So to them, I am the one in the family from whom all things upsetting must be hidden or I will cry and spontaneously pass out.
That’s a little true. I have been known to cry and I find passing out is a good way to avoid many unpleasant situations.
My kids think I have the answer to all life’s problems and they like to give me pop quizzes from time to time just to test me. If a Mom left Albuquerque at 1:00 PM, driving 75 mph in a Ford Focus with one window down and the passenger’s side front tire a little low, how long would it take her to bake 250 cupcakes for her son’s entire school with only one egg and a fever of 103?
As I am older than my offspring and therefore have accumulated more knowledge simply because I’ve been around longer, I do have the solution to lots of things life can throw at them. (The answer to the quiz, by the way, is 1 hour. That’s fifty minutes to yell at her son and ten to go to the store and buy 250 cupcakes.)
My friends think I am a very loud, over the top woman who can be counted on to say what everyone else in the room is thinking.
I guess that is sort of me as well. Sometimes I forget to change the filter between my brain and my mouth and stuff leaks out my lips.
My husband thinks of me as the warden who patrols the halls of our house looking for even the slightest sign of noncompliance. If the hand towel in the bathroom is dirty or giant man shoes have been left in a designated no shoe zone, he knows it is likely I am going to sound the sirens and rain fire down upon him.
Between you and me, maybe I am a little warden-ish when a situation calls for it. They say marriage is an institution and every institution has to have someone who runs the place. I voted for me and since I ran unopposed, I’m it.
I guess maybe I’m sort of all those people, but I’m not sure how well I like any of them. I think I’d rather be a Vanilla Woman instead.
You know the kind. Perfect from head to toe, never screws up anything, never says or does anything inappropriate, always has her life under control and doesn’t allow anything to upset her apple cart. When she walks into Baskin-Robbins, she chooses vanilla… one scoop....in a cup…always. No wild flavors or nuts in her cone.
While she’s taking tiny nibbles, I however am the one with a giant bucket of ten different flavors covered in nuts and whipped cream with hot fudge all over my face and most definitely some dribbled down the front of my shirt…who is embarrassed she’s an ice cream-zilla, but can’t seem to help herself and knows for sure as messy as it is, she’ll probably order the exact same thing next time because she just can’t help herself.
If you, or someone you know, really does like yourself and has found a way to keep it all together in Vanilla perfection, be sure to email me. If you promise I’ll win the lottery, I’ll even send it to all my friends.
Copyright © 2004-2007, Sherri Bailey
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Tell me you love me at: HumorWriter@gmail.com
Tell me you hate me at: Yeah. I'm so sure I'm going to make that easy for you.