"Mom, you look pale."
"hm?"
"are you sure you should go to work?"
"Did you finish your homework?" (My mother is also a master subject-changer.)
"uh...I'm late."
If the occasional denial of the inadequacy of the flesh isn't enough, my father can offer several an example of stoic indifference to notable discomfort.
"DAD! There's a hole in your hand!"
"hm?"
"DAD! What the hell?" (grabbing his hand)
"Oh this? Yeah, I accidentally drilled through my hand..."
"With the power drill?"
"Well, what else?"
I also have a particularly poignant memory of my uncle dragging my dad into the living room after a day of four-wheeling, and tattling on him. Seriously.
"Doug has something to show you, Terry."
"what is it?"
"Show her." (to my dad)
"Show her what?"
"He broke his arm."
(insert emotional female panic here).
However, unlike my parents who grow up, basically in what I would call the Great Depression's relapse, I grew up in a society of comfort and amidst a generation which quickly dismissed even slight discomfort as unacceptable. To us, discomfort was something that we would not suffer through at all, much less in silence. In following with my generation's unwavering demand for pleasantness, the art of suppression, passed down to me through biological processes, was in a constant war with my daily reality.
Now, if I were my father, or my mother, this conflict would be quickly stifled beneath "family illnesses" and "family achievements" (neither of which is an appropriate discussion for the dinner table). However, I was not my father, nor was I my mother. I was a self-absorbed teenager, bloated with the luxuries of instant gratification (thanks grandparents!) and in denial of a pragmatic acceptance of livable discomfort. And I, being me, learned to correct the statements made around me, which at one time sent my pulse racing, and transform them into positive affirmations. "Jill's hair looks nice brown." became "Blonds have more fun." Something as emotionally stale and innocuous as "where are you planning on going to college?" became, "you're oh so very smart. I know you are going to college, but which lucky institution will actually be able to one day claim you as its alumni?"
A few years out of high school, I had developed my skill for positive self assessment into a fully functioning formed mental assurance of the value of my every shortcoming.
Now, it may sound like to you that I'm punking out on my narcissism and decreeing, "love your whole self." But what I actually am saying is far more depraved.
Now, when I meet a new person and I want her to like me, I don't blindly gush about my perfect veins (seriously, I get that allll the time) or my heightened awareness of English grammar. No, instead, I play daft mental games designed to render my victim susceptible to misreading my flaws as worthwhile characteristics.
First, I will gladly tell anyone I am an unapologetic eccentric, doomed to obscure mental meanderings. However, after dropping the "e"-word bombshell, I spin it. This is where raw talent comes in. After calmly asserting my eccentricity, I smile, and assume the posture of someone who realizes she is better than everyone around her. Yes. I say something negative about myself, and then act as if I was just given a genuine compliment. The listener is none-the-wiser because in his ears he is hearing "eccentric" while subconsciously detecting a subtle wave of confidence, i.e. "coolness."
Now, sometimes the subtle tilt of head is lost on the more dense of conversation partners. But for this, my system has a protocol. If your listener seems unaffected by the confidence you radiate, speak frankly. There is no shame in occasionally tossing in a carefully worded phrase to encourage a certain level of respect. Be assertive! "Everyone always tells me I'm bossy, and I guess I am, but somehow, I make it work." Yes, I've said it. It's 3:00 in the afternoon and I wouldn't be at all surprised if before the end of the day I had to inform someone that I am a brat, but a very endearing one.
To the casual viewer, this delightful bull terrier may be unfairly condemned to the unforgiving hallows of ugly-dom. However, closer examination reveals this little terrier possesses a distinguished, and striking Roman nose. After realizing this, how badly do you wish you had that uninterrupted slope from crown of head to chin?
I would be lying if I didn't admit that I often segue into a feisty tirade with, "I realize I'm about to be very bitchy, but please remember, the 'bitchiness..' that is just one small part of what makes me so charming!"
Yes, in this, my second blog, there is a worthwhile life lesson: you don't have faults, and if for some reason you have been convinced that you do, it is actually only a failure to confidently proclaim the somewhat scandalous bits of yourself. And those scandalous, perhaps abrasive bits? Those are what make you so irresistibly adorable!
