Simple Me

If you know me then you know that I don’t understand people.

Sure, I’m a writer. I write about people. Some may say, I write about people very effectively. In fact…the people who approach me in public places and accost me because I allegedly ‘based a character’ on them (even though we’ve never met), seem to think I am very adept at understanding people.

But if you really know me, you know this isn’t true.

People puzzle me.

I’ve been thinking about this lately and I think I understand why. I am a very simple person. I think about one thing at a time. I buy all my clothes in the same store, in a light weight material so they match everything else I own and only need to be dried once to save time, energy and laundry tokens. All my bed linens and towels are white or light colors for this same reason. When I wash my hair, I put in this $20 Israeli hair oil to keep the frizz to a minimum so I don’t have to think about it again all day. There is minimum furniture in my apartment. I like to walk through and not touch anything. There are also no visible cords because it reminds me of clutter. If I don’t have space for something new, I donate it. I do not believe in storage. Everything I own is relatively visible at all times. I own six pairs of shoes. If I buy a new pair, one gets tossed.

Yes, I am simple. If I can eat, poop and sleep in the course of twenty-four hours, I’m pretty much a happy girl.

So with that in mind you can understand my lack of understanding for others. Other people enjoy complications. They like to attend several events in one night. They like to buy heavy clothes that need to be hand washed, inside out, to protect the beautiful, decorative applique. Other people drink coffee to prevent themselves from sleeping. They get married so another person (equally complicated) can have access to their money and ruin their credit scores buying more complicated clothes with more beautiful applique. They have babies that spit and poop and throw up all over their furniture and all over them.

They’re a complicated mess.

Thinking about them makes my skin crawl.

However, these complicated people think I am weird because when they ask me when I’m going to start popping out these screaming, pooping babies, I tell them never.

Never? You mean, you are a female who doesn’t want to perform your basic female function????

Shock and awe! Shock and awe!

Now this conversation frustrates me on many levels, mainly because, (like I said before) I am a simple person. My only goal is to get through life interacting with as few complicated people as possible.

So why do you complication-driven people feel the need to attack me about my uterus? Can’t you just lead your messy, laundry-ridden lives without the need to drag me down with you?

And how about this for an idea? Respect my wishes and do not try to convert me.

I don’t condemn you for contributing to the global population problem we all face. In fact, I’m happy that you procreators feel the need to spawn offspring! Good for you! If that’s what you want, I fully support your right to it. I am prepared to die for your right to procreate!

But when it comes to me and my simple, simple life, it is not on the cards. I’ve been saying that I don’t want kids for the last ten years and I’m constantly greeted with this phrase: Oh, you’ll change your mind. (News flash: I’m 28. My mind remains unchanged).

I cannot express how frustrating this greeting is to me. You are basically saying that YOU know me better than I know me. And how could that be possible? You are complicated and I am simple. You could never understand me, just like I can never understand you. So I think in the interest of baby-birthing, we agree to disagree, on my uterus. See, isn’t it better when we all try to be pleasant and get along? Don’t you feel better now?

It’s so simple, isn’t it?



2 responses to this post.

  1. Manda, if any of these people have children here’s a nice way to get back at them. When their demon spawn is driving them crazy ask them sweet as pie at that moment about the joys of motherhood. Better yet, go on about the happiness of “singledom”.


  2. Singledom is a very happy state, indeed. I can pick up and spend a week in Paris if I want, no babysitters needed.


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