Last week's post taught me an interesting lesson. I prefaced the post with "from a reader," but most other readers actually assumed that by reader I meant myself. After all, they surely concluded, I do read my own posts.
I'm not sure, however, why people think it's a story that I'm ashamed of. Actually, I did lose a bit of weight recently. That's why I was relieved when the reader sent me the story that I have a personality that doesn't attract shidduchhounds like those I mentioned.
It reminds me of this little stunt I used to do in elementary school. I was a terror; the kid that teachers would warn their successors and substitutes about. I'm not proud of it, but I really had my fair share of- erm- fun- in school. And of course, being the egomaniac that I am, I always thought my shticks and tricks were totally clever.
So I was left with a dilemma. I wanted to brag at home about the clever little things I did. But, at the same time, I knew my parents would be livid if they'd know about all the trouble I was making. And so I developed a strategy. I would tell my stories from the perspective of an awed classmate. And thus, "a kid in my class" became a well know character in my family's dimmer table conversations.
Nowadays, I think of "a kid in my class" and laugh at my childish naïveté. I doubt that my parents were unable to figure out the correlation between that kid and their own. Plus, MP is just a grade older than me, and was always around to clear things up for my parents. "SD, how come I saw you sitting outside the office today?"
The reader that told me her story about the shidduchhounds revealed herself to me. Ironically enough, she actually is a kid in my class. See how that all worked out?