I know I’m a grown ass woman and I don’t need to explain myself to anyone. There are certain social situations where I feel obligated to contextualize things, even though I really shouldn’t.
The Pizza Dude. I feel for this guy. It’s bad enough having your profession vastly misrepresented by the pornography industry, but it’s even worse having me as a client. All he wants to do is bring my pizza and leave but I feel so awkward I can’t stop talking. He’s left wondering why he’s being subjected to this monologue he did not pay to attend and wonders if the performance has an intermission.
“Listen, I know it seems lame that you drove three blocks to bring me pizza, but my kid is sick and I’m really hungry and I didn’t want to wait an hour to cook dinner because I’m tired because my kid is sick which is why I’m looking kind of sloppy. I usually wear more make up than this and wear real bras. I promise I’m a grown up. No, I didn’t vacuum. Yes I probably should have.”
The Dental Hygienist. Those bright lights overhead make the dental chair feel like it’s part of an interrogation room behind enemy lines. I want to recite name, rank and serial number and hope someone rescues me.
“How often do you floss?”
“What kind of mouthwash do you use?”
“How often do you brush?”
“How long would you say?”
“Have you heard the good news about Zoom whitening?”
I haven’t been asked this many questions since the last time I completed the long form census. Like seriously, am I under oath here? Just wondering, I mean it won’t influence my answers. Should I submit my answers in writing? I mean my mouth is full of your fingers and latex gloves. I feel obligated to respond, but I can’t.
My Nail Tech. When I go in for a pedicure, I want to apologize from the moment I peel off my socks. I feel like I need to present a sympathy card of some kind in advance of my spa service. I am so sorry for the loss of an hour and your sanity on account of the dismal state of my toes. I over-pronate, I wear flip flops, sneakers, peep toes stilettos, public enemies 1-3 as far as pretty feet go. My calluses have calluses. What I need is one of those rock polishers but for feet, basically. Anyways, I always feel bad. I feel like I should explain but mostly I’m mortified. I rarely go to the same place twice for my pedicures. My hobbit feet are in the witness relocation program.
I’m a grown ass woman and I don’t have to explain myself to anyone. That being said, I feel like if I don’t, somewhere out there my pizza delivery dude, dental hygienist and my nail tech are going to form a support group and I’m the one who just wants to be anonymous.
(This post originally ran on Sparkly Shoes and Sweat Drops.)
2 Comments
I am the opposite. I am sure all those people think I am a anti social cause I really dislike making small talk. I take a few taxis and this is the same thing. I do the pleasantries but after that I would like silence.
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