I received the most perplexing compliment last week. In the break room I looked at my friend R and asked, as he looked back at me, “What are you thinking?” (A question a woman should NEVER ask a man, even one she isn’t sleeping with).
He paused for a moment and then said, “I want to say something, but I’m afraid you’ll hit me.”
It should be noted that I have a wicked right hook.
I told him to go ahead and he said, with a deep breath, “I like that you have your own style that you’re ok with that.”
I thought he was alluding to the fact that I had shown up to work un-showered and wearing the previous day’s makeup. I yelled, “Hey look! I had a bad night and I couldn’t take a shower! At least I’m still wearing yesterday’s makeup and put on perfume!” (Because, you know, Chanel makes everything better)
He put his hands up to defend himself and said, “No, it’s about your post on Facebook about the 20 coolest bookstores. You have your own style and you don’t care if it’s not cool.”
Chastened I mumbled thanks.
Later I wondered….what do you mean “it’s not cool”? Wait…I’m not cool? Sure I have the self-esteem of a turtle, but that’s just an outward expression. Internally I think I’m one of the coolest people I know. I mean, really people, I have CALLING CARDS for fuck’s sake. I READ. Sure, I’m not the snazziest dresser, but I’ve been doing much better lately – did you see me at M & J’s wedding? I looked frickin’ amazing!
I mean, I know I’m not cool by most of my co-worker’s standards, but most of my co-workers have an average age of 23, so oh well. I can hold my liquor, I have a bar where I’m a regular and the bartender knows I like Herradura Silver neat, I can read a French cookbook like no one’s business, I know the tactile difference between thermography printing and engraving, and I know the significance of a ball at Netherfield.
That’s not cool?