I can't whistle, either.
I worked at Abercrombie & Fitch.
I was, um, friendly with the boys in college. And maybe for a little while after college...
Spiders terrify me on such a deep, transcendental emotional level that even Keith Livingston would be hard-pressed to rationalize.
I suck at horseshoes. Don't ever willingly play on my team.
I got fired from Abercrombie & Fitch.
I see nothing wrong with a little over-exaggeration. Or a little bump n' grind. Or a little Prosecco on a Tuesday evening.
And there you have it. A (profoundly) abbreviated list of my imperfections. Each one an imperfection that I embrace, each one a brick in my wall.
I'm not proud of these imperfections. Specifically my stint at Abercrombie & Fitch. That was, wow...
But I digress.
Another imperfection is that I was awkward - like, really awkward - in high school. I thought I was a radically eccentric pair of Marloes ten Bhömer shoes - you know, they go with nothing and therefore go with everything?
Well, I went with nothing. But cared deeply about everything, everyone. I burnt myself out worrying about others that I didn't even know how to begin worrying about myself.
For the record, there is nothing more liberating than coming to terms with your imperfections. Except maybe flipping off the figurative world when it tries to hold them against you.
Sure, I am tempted by insecurity every once in a while. On fleeting occasions most frequently involving members of the opposite sex. Damn you, men...
But, nowadays, I am too "me" to not be me. Bullshitting is not on my ridiculously long and seemingly perpetual to-do list. I don't even know if I could bullshit if I tried.
So judge me as you will. Your opinions are as much yours as mine are mine. And sorry if I've taken the carnival out of the whole holding-my-imperfections-against-me thing, but as the cops and one stripper know first-hand, it never humbled me anyway.