More and more I find myself having to defend my status as a shallow person. There are those who perceive my introspection as being incongruent with what I profess to be my true nature. I have gone to great lengths to counter these accusations, providing clear definitions and understandings of life as a shallow person and even subjecting myself to a rigorous grading process which I am pleased to say I passed most handily. And I think if someone were to have a reread of this blog to date there would be little doubt that I have made my case. As a matter of fact, when Kev and I first shared our plan to write the shallow blog with a close friend, his immediate response was “I can’t think of two better people for the job!” and we took that as a compliment. But now it would appear that doubt runs deeper than even I had imagined and at this point I am at my wit’s end as to what to do about it.
This new obstacle was brought to my attention on my recent return flight from New Orleans where I found myself buckling into a seat beside two very nice ladies, one perhaps much younger than the other, both likely much younger than me. As I am want to do, I struck up a conversation with my closest neighbor and as conversations go, this one was both congenial and illuminating. I discovered that my new friend (I like to call her that) was a scrapbook consultant returning home from a scrapbook convention where she learned about all of the new and upcoming trends of her craft. Now I can’t say that I have a a great deal of experience in her world but I have never been averse to learning new things, so I listened. She explained to me all of the “ins and outs” of scrapbooking and I asked what I thought to be reasonable and engaging questions. As she told me how she masterfully arranges all of the photos and artifacts in her home I thought better than to mention that when my children were in their elementary years I had politely requested they refrain from bringing home their “artwork” as I had no where to put it, not to mention that I have a particular disdain for fridge magnets. And all went well, or so I thought, until she pulled out a stack of magazines and offered the younger woman in the window seat her choice from the pile. As I sat quietly anticipating my turn to have a look at what was left, she turned to me and said, in the nicest sort of way, “you don’t seem the type to read trashy magazines” and then proceeded to put them back into her bag. So there I was, left straining to read the headlines on US magazine before Ms “Generation Y” turned each of the pages.
That’s when I knew I had a problem. What was it I wondered, that made my scrapbooking friend think I was somehow above reading all the latest dirt from tinsel town? Me who has every episode of Glee on my iPad just in case there are no “romcoms” playing on the inflight entertainment system. Me, who can rhyme off the names of the most recent bachelors and bachelorettes along with their chosen mates. Me who takes solace in knowing there are people who need to lose more weight than I do and are willing to go on TV to prove it. Does she not realize that I am the one who writes a blog about being and becoming shallow? How could she be so wrong? How could I look so wrong?
So now it’s time for me to take stock. Is there something about my round, tortoise shell glasses which, although quite fashionable, transform me into a rather bookish looking gal? I can take those off. Are my lucky jeans that I always wear on the plane but never anywhere else, causing me to appear a tad out of date? If they are I can make a different pair of jeans lucky. Or do people mistake the rainbow Star of David pin I wear on my jean jacket as support for some sort of obscure cause? Honestly, it was a gift. I don’t even know what it means! Whatever it is something has got to change, and quickly. I’m looking for your ideas and suggestions because if I don’t figure this thing out soon I’m afraid I’m never going to find out which stars were caught walking on Rodeo Drive without their makeup on.
Shallow Be My Name 