I’m thinking this title might catch a few of my readers off guard, but it’s meant to. If you are stopping by my blog because you are inquisitive about the title, you can stop right here. It’s not what you think it is.
The other day I had to repair one of my acrylic nails, and looking at the shape of the nail I had just finished reminded me of a woman who I used to work with at Thrift Drug Store. For the life of me I can’t remember her name, but she had short, very fake red hair and was a perfectionist with her appearance AND her job. You see she was responsible for putting out new stock in the store. She would take a delivery, which was a bunch of different items thrown into a “tote” (plastic bin with a lid) and walk around placing the items on shelves. She had to do a lot of “facing”, which is straightening the shelves and making sure that every item was flush with the front with the end of the shelf. Facing is annoying and takes a lot of time, but it makes the store look great. She was perfect for her job because she liked precision. Her nails were perfect, her pants were perfectly pressed, she had newscaster hair. Not one out-of-place. Not one. Her lipstick never bled into the tiny lines around her mouth. Her glasses didn’t have a smudge on the glass.
And it annoyed the SHIT out of me.
I used to try to be more like her, like perfection. Try as I might, I just couldn’t do it. I would try to bake an impeccable looking cookie. One that was symmetric in size, decoration, consistency. I couldn’t do it. I would end up with a delicious cookie, but not perfect.
I would attempt to put an outfit together, pressed shirt and skirt with hosiery, clean shined shoes and impeccable hair and makeup. In just a few short hours, my hair would be disheveled, my face oily and my clothing wrinkled from sitting. And that irked the hell out of me.
Working for an insurance company, I put a lot of effort into all of my duties being on time and complete. Crossing the t’s and dotting my i’s. But I would make mistakes…
As the years would pass, I figured out that I was never going to be one of those superb, anal people who prided themselves on the ridiculous. On perfection. It was so incredibly tiring for me to try to achieve what it appeared others had been able achieve to so easily. Would I ever, even with lots and lots of trial and error? Nope, I wasn’t going to be that person with seemingly effortless precision. I would never be able to keep my panty hose from running, nor my lipstick from sticking to my teeth.
Some of us can. Some of us will be able to achieve this crazy way of life. And guess what? I’m fine with that. Because having my life be perfect doesn’t appeal to me anymore. How mundane would it be, but more importantly how stressful would it be. I know that there are people who feel better about themselves when they have a clean house or matching shoes and handbag. It’s not vanity, it’s just who they are.
And it’s not who I am. Hi my name is Robin, and I’m far from anal. I have a cluttered life and a house with odds and ends strewn about, and a job where I make mistakes and that’s okay. Today my sweater is old and has some pilling, it should be longer to cover my dimpled ass, and you can see my bra when I lift up my arm. It’s what makes me “ME”. I’m not changing.
So how do you like YOUR anal?
And because I miss him and I can’t believe he’s gone so soon, take a listen to one of favorite vocalists. His voice=perfection…
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