A wise little human being once, or rather quite recently, made a dour prediction; "Aunt Genny, you are weird, but I like you anyway." Of course, like any other oracle I was obliged to contemplate the subtle nuances of these gilded words; weird how? weird when? Did he perchance see my break dancing in the kitchen? Is this child truant? But no matter how much I beat him at Pokemon cards or at being on the earth longer, I still could not comprehend when these events had taken hold. However, the truth of the statement I accepted, what 35-down crossword puzzled me is, when I had become so comfortable in my little quirks that I could not even notice when my behavior would be observed and marked by others? Perhaps my time spent recently with various octogenarians have bred in me a devil may care attitude; fueled by the smell of Earl Grey and denture cream, and matured during a hot-button discussion about those darn neighborhood kids.
In any case, I relegated these contemplations to the back of my mind like Christmas fudge delicately stored in the back of your mother's underwear drawer and focused my contemplation on another facet of my adulthood so lately endeavored.... school. What had I expected? Books, no doubt. Desks. Formaldehyde. But what have I experienced? Naps. Lots of naps. Unashamedly taken and with great panache. Perhaps this is natures way of telling me, "Conserve your energy, young lady. You've got a lot more weirdness to come." Too true. Too true.
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