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| Yes, this is me a couple of Halloweens ago in my "cereal killer" costume. |
At least I noticed right away, not like the day I went to work with my pants on backwards. But it makes me wonder what kinds of things have been poking out of my clothes, sticking to my shoe and hitchhiking around between my teeth that I wasn't aware of - and that no one mentioned to me.
You know what, though? I think I'll just embrace the screw-up within. This way I won't be mortified if someone does point something out because my response: "And that would surprise you because?" will put the entire issue to rest while shielding me from embarrassment.
But I'll replace the word "screw-up" with "eccentric" and bamboozle myself into buying in to a phony-baloney aura of respectability.
The more I think about it, the better I like the idea. Imagine the shortcuts I can take through my morning routine. No more wondering if my mismatched socks are similar enough to go unnoticed. No more dabbing nail polish on the runs in my stockings. No more brushing over that cowlick in the back of my head that looks like a bald spot if I don't cover it up.
No more any of the things I do just because they're the proper thing, the expected thing, the everybody-else-does-it thing, the normal thing.
Philosopher Albert Camus said: "Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal." I am one of those people and frankly, I'm sick of it.
I've already had a glimpse of the eccentric life and it wasn't bad. For Halloween two years ago, I was a cereal killer and that's me in the picture up there. But the jury's still out as to whether my costume, a cereal box "hat" with a knife rammed through it, marked me as eccentric or just cheap.
History books are peppered throughout with people who marched to a different beat and failed to give a rip what others thought about it.
Benjamin Franklin advocated "air baths," and stood before an open window naked for a half-hour every day. And let's not forget Oscar Wilde who is said to have walked around in public with a lobster. I just read that the offbeat, off key and off-kilter singer and recording artist, Mrs. Miller was initially unaware that she was the butt of jokes. Once she caught on, she decided to roll with it, releasing a number of albums and enjoying a good deal of celebrity due to her wretched singing.
Maybe people won't think I'm an eccentric; maybe they'll bypass eccentric altogether and go straight to genius! Maybe they'll think I'm the next Oscar Wilde, Albert Camus or . . . Mrs. Miller.
As I said: Maybe they'll think I'm an eccentric!
