I guess it doesn’t help that a lot of the time, I don’t take myself seriously. I rarely answer the question, “So what do you do?” In fact, I avoid it at all costs. Because people give you rather smug smiles when you say you’re writing a book.
Don’t even get me started on what happens if you tell people you write a blog. “Oh, you write a ‘little’ blog?” A LITTLE BLOG? Sometimes, I want to guilt them and say, “Actually, I’m too disabled to work full-time. I’m in pain 24-7. And when it rains, I want to crawl in a hole and die.” But I said something like this once to someone and they almost cried. I don’t, generally, like to make people cry.
Lately, people patronize me most by treating me like a little kid who doesn’t know anything because I don’t have kids (or thankfully, a gray hair on my head).
Please, please, think of me the next time you want to treat some poor unsuspecting person like an infant who just got out of diapers and has led a very sheltered life. I warrant that since you haven’t walked a day in their shoes, you have no idea what kinds of shocking stories lie behind a youthful, otherwise calm-looking, veneer.
Maybe it’s time to grow some gray hair?