It has occurred to me, recently, that, unlikely as it seems, I am not quite as normal as I thought myself to be. Somewhere between the awe and the jealousy, it became clear that people just aren’t comfortable around me.
It has little to do with appearance – all right maybe more than a little. I am six feet two, I can see how that is demeaning for some. I don’t blame ’em, I’d be furious if I got trumped without a match – not that we are having a contest or anything, but it does have its advantages; being tall.
As a man in his forties kindly pointed out to me, it would do me good to stop rubbing it in everyone’s face. Or they’ll find my body in the dumpster across the street one fateful day. And the celebration that would follow would go on for forty days and forty nights. The man was a bit tipsy at the time, so I won’t take his word for it.
In front of anyone I know or would probably know before I’m dead – I am like the vision of perfection. Straight As, no drugs, no mentally impaired friends. It gets better as the list goes on. As far as they can tell, I am the best thing that has ever happened to them.
Yes, I am that guy, no argument. But being that guy is no fun. You can try it sometime, you’ll get bored to death in less than a week. Life’ll be dull, and before you know it you’ll end up in a rehab center, with a wheezing old homeless dude whose eyes look both ways.
So, not to die of sheer boredom, I took up a hobby. Not your average hobby, by any means, but a stroke of genius. How I came across this particular notion is a story for another time. And a depressing one too, so you probably won’t be hearing it anytime soon. I am in a good mood these days. And my gut tells me it’ll last.
I make up for being me, by being the most embarrassingly honest young lad around. Innocent, as it may seem, its surprising how the results are never anything less than hysterical. I make sure people know its all in good humor. They understand; at least, I think they do.
Just the other day, I informed the milkman what exactly the townspeople thought of him. If you ask him, harsh words. If you ask me, fair warning.
The banker didn’t seem too pleased with the knowledge of the endeavors of his youngest son. But then again, fathers never are.
If you stop and think about it, its not that bad. Since when was being honest wrong? Though tell that to the merry folks who hang out at my usual cafe, and they’ll rip your face off; if they’re in a particularly forgiving mood.