Yes, I am one of the most opinionated people you will ever have the honor of meeting. Lucky for you, I enjoy sharing my views with you, unedited and completely honest. This is not to say that you've asked or particularly care. Fortunately, that doesn't stop me. Because I can relate to this topic, I'd like to share with you why, when others do it, I get stabby. Hypocritical, yes. So what? Like you aren't? Your flaws are glaring, yet you stand in judgment of me and everyone else daily. Does that make it acceptable? No, it does not, and you need to look in the mirror very closely before ever attempting to criticize any of my life choices.
So many folks love sharing their opinions, we should form a club, charge dues, and get freaky. Here's the thing, I hate opinionated people. At the risk of sounding ridiculous, I rarely want someone else's take on anything, unless I have gone out of my way to ask for it. My reasons are many, I'm perfectly capable of living my life without being micromanaged, I've gotten this far doing it my way, and I like my own style, fuck you very much. Nowadays, it seems there are more people in the world who are so gung ho about so many different things that everywhere you turn, you are being recruited for or schooled in new and different techniques for doing the very thing you've been doing successfully your entire life.
The other thing that chafes my hide is when people seem to shake their heads in disdain about choices I've made or someone else has made. We all have our own distinct ways of dressing, housekeeping, unwinding, and recreating. When another person enters my house, they've entered my domain. As master of my domain (do NOT reference Seinfeld, that's not what I mean) I have free reign to clean or not clean as I see fit. If I've had an incredibly busy week, I may run the dishwasher, but not necessarily empty it. I can access forks and plates as I need them, it's not like I've thrown them out or left them filthy. Why do you care from where I've pulled that spoon? As long as it isn't out of my ass, you can rest assured it is clean and sanitary.
Cleanliness is subjective. What one person finds tidy, another may see as tornado damage. Some of us have more crap than we'd like and are plugging away at it while the rest of the family adds to it. That doesn't mean the house is dirty, I hate dust, crumbs and other food shrapnel, smudges on mirrors, and dishes piled up in the sink. But if I have a pile of papers on the dining room table, don't go up and down the streets telling folks I have a dirty house. Check your own corners for dust bunnies before town crying about my home.
The same theory applies to the way I dress. Most days, you'll see me in jeans and t-shirt with a sweater. It's my usual uniform, comfortable yet neat and presentable. If, on the weekend, I want to wear ripped jeans, a giant sweatshirt, and flip flops, I'm entitled to do so. It's comfortable, warm, and unless I am going out to dinner, who cares what I look like? Showering is not optional, so I'm never dirty or smelly. If a concert tee and sweats are the outfit du jour, who are you to judge me? I'll always look better than you on your best day, doesn't matter what I wear. The fact is, the only person who should matter to you when getting dressed is you. You have to be comfortable, you have to like the clothing, and you have to look at yourself in the mirror and approve what you see.
My hair is almost constantly messy, wild curls tend to do that and I don't like spending an awful lot of time on styling it in the morning. I prefer sleep to grooming. That's my choice, my nappy 'fro not yours. You want to spend hours layering on product, blow drying, styling, flat ironing and fuck knows what else, have at it. My pillow is at its most comfy right around the time my alarm starts going off, and hitting the snooze button is more important to me than rounded, even curls. I rock this lion's mane, neat or not. Your hair may be a priority to you, and I do not begrudge you one minute of your intensive styling routine...from my cozy bed, cuddled up with my cat.
Enjoying a beer or two midweek is a perfectly normal way to unwind. Yet, so often I hear about the evils of drinking on a Tuesday or Wednesday. Because you don't do it doesn't make it wrong. You are totally free to be a tight ass any day of the week you choose. Others may not see it that way. Schedules are hectic, people are far more tired than they were when I was growing up, and looking forward to a tall, frosty beverage is not uncommon during the work week. There are also the militant health nuts that will stand there, arms folded, criticizing your freedom to have a glass of wine or two with your dinner. First of all, red wine IS heart-healthy, ask any cardiologist. Secondly, most health nuts, exercise freaks, what ever name you'd like to use, that I know aren't all that fit and trim. Better stock up on Windex, your glass house is getting spotty from the bullshit you spew my way every day.
Same goes for my chowing down on a big, juicy burger or a plateful of Hooter wings once in a while. Who the fuck are you to judge my eating habits? Do I look morbidly obese? Hell, even if I was enormous, it would still be my decision. When you don't know which part of the weight journey a person is up to, your right to speak your mind flies straight out the window. Really, your right to speak never existed unless you are a close friend or family member. My health is of concern to me, my husband, and daughter. Notice I mentioned myself first? That's because, ultimately, my body is MY responsibility, no one else's. What I do, what I don't do, what I choose...all up to me, and me only. Back the fuck off unless you are my doctor and I've made an appointment.
I eat red meat, you don't. That's fine up to the point where you begin to preach the evils of all things bovine and explain in detail the blockage my colon will endure as a result of my poor eating habits. Trust me, my colon is quite healthy and most definitely NOT blocked in any way. Do I need to pinch a loaf for you as proof? Disgusting, right? So is discussing my lower intestine in grotesque detail with me. Artificial sweeteners are my thing, I love them. Two Splenda in my coffee, two to three cups per day. That's an assload of sucralose-based sweetener, and bless the good people at Tate & Lyle, it's delicious. Diet sodas by the cupful, bring 'em on. Aspartame is a wonderful invention, yet those of you who eschew artificial and chemical inventions for the oh-so-popular bug-infested organic versions don't agree with me. Enjoy the shit out of your roach leg-filled food and drink, and I'll take comfort in my clean, vermin-free, lab-created treats. I won't pull the brown apple out of your mouth, don't knock the sugar free yogurt out of my hand. Agree to disagree? Either way, I'm not really listening to you.
We are all different for a reason. The world would be a very boring place if we all liked the same things, if we all did things the exact same way. There'd be no opportunity for learning, no intrigue or room for debate. Don't set out to change the people in your life, they are there because you wanted them the way you found them in the first place. If you don't like the way I do things, turn and walk the other way because I have no intention of changing now. People wanting a place in my life have to accept me, warts and all. I am who I am, like it or lump it. I wouldn't presume to mold you into a version of me, don't try to force your choices upon me...especially if you want me to stick around. Are you friggin kidding me right now???
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