Every good hobby has an element of danger to it. Maybe you enjoy skydiving or riding on ATVs or horseback riding - all of which can be fun but potentially dangerous. In blogging, the constant danger is that you might (heaven forbid) offend someone. Living in a small town and having relatives who read my blog makes it even more likely that this will happen at some point. I tell you all this for a reason - the event that I am writing about actually took place over a month ago but I had to wait until some time had passed before I could safely document my feelings on it. I feel confident now that no one will be able to figure out when or where this happened and therefore I can avoid creating enemies.
Here it is:
Today I was forced to spend the afternoon socializing with people who epitomize what I never want to become. People whose natural haircolor is a mystery to even themselves, who talk incessantly about how demanding their eight year old daughters' pom-pon schedules are, and who probably use Crest Whitening Strips on their dogs' teeth. I have always considered myself to be somewhat of a "social chameleon" meaning that I can get along and chat with just about anyone - kids, librarians, engineers, PETA members, the Schwan man, convicted felons - anyone. But these women stretched my skills to their very limits.
You see, I've spent my entire adult life developing a disdain for people like this and all that they stand for - women who strive to remain 20 lbs underweight, have professional French manicures on their toenails and who wear fur-lined boots to the swimming pool. Women who look as if they just climbed out of the tanning bed year round, who have never had pudding between their toes or worn the same underwear two days in a row. These women live on streets with names like, "Better Than You Boulevard." And their idea of a "wild" time is going to bed without washing their makeup off first.
And when I find myself in the presence of a group like this with no hope of escape in sight, desparately wishing I was at home with chicken pox, it makes me really think.
I'm glad for the nearly eight years that I lived in Colorado and for the life experiences that have made me into the Laura I am today. Even though I don't always fit in here in Oklahoma, it's okay.
I'm glad that I am comfortable in my own skin - as pasty-white as it may be. But if I start posting pictures of myself in fur-lined boots (and they aren't pictures of me on a ski slope), I need someone to hunt me down and slap me. Promise me you care enough to do that.