“Hey Lilly, are you normal?” she said, as I was getting into my car this morning.
I thought I misheard her.
“Hi Ruby”, I said, “what did you just say?”
“Are you N - O -R -M -A-L?” she loudly repeated, looking through the fence.
“Right”, I said, “I thought that’s what you said”.
I chose to ignore her question. How does one answer that kind of question anyway?
I didn’t want to hear what else she had to say. Everyone’s a critic. Including a little three foot tall, four year old red head moppet who lives next door and dances to four middle-aged men who wear coloured skivvies. Like that’s normal...
Except her question left me feeling uneasy. I got in the car and checked in the mirror.
I had two eyes, a nose, and mouth. Check. Hair brushed Check. Clothes on. Check. I am missing something it’s got to be obvious right?
How can a four year old's question give me a complex? I am a confident, mature woman, right?
Nonetheless, I thought about it on and off all day. Who, after all, wants to be ab-normal?
I even googled the word normal - standard, average, typical.
I phoned a friend who lives nearby (I couldn’t trust that my daughter wouldn’t be on Ruby’s side so she was crossed off the phone-a-friend list).
“Tulip you’ve known me through thick and thin”, I said, explaining Ruby’s bizarre greeting this morning. “Tell me the truth; do you think I’m normal?”
“No Lilly, she laughed. You’re completely sane but no, I don’t think you're normal and I could give you many reasons why not”.
“Oh great, like what?” I said.
“Well, let me see. Let’s start with the simple things. It could be because you sometimes eat onions like most people eat apples (oh, I can hear you all groan but sometimes I get a craving for onions that medical science has never been able to satisfactorily explain), or you buy a book to go on the coffee table before you buy the table itself (doesn’t everyone? – it was Georgia O’Keefe after all and the table had to match the book) or you eat lettuce with almost every meal no matter what the dish (I like food that has a high crunch factor, so?) or you choose your alcoholic drinks by their colour (sometimes...often, ok, its...true).
“But”, she went on, “I think Ruby may have been talking about the fact that your blog has been a discussion point in the neighbourhood since Barry posed on his lawn for a photo in his dressing gown. You know for the post you did on Big Brother Google. I think the neighbours are wondering what may be coming next and who may be included”.
Right.... who’d have thought it. I am now part of the blogarazzi set. No wonder they scatter when they see me these days. It's a shame my neighbourhood is so normal though! Nothing ever happens besides the gorgeous Barry appearing on his lawn like clockwork every morning looking suave and sophisticated in his blue dressing gown. The rest of the neighbourhood will have to liven things up if they want to get my blog's attention.
PS. Hey Ruby, I can answer your question now. No, I'm not normal. I have my own unique style whatever that means...so go tell your parents I have my camera on me at all times, just in case...AND the more bizarre and ABNORMAL things you all get up to, the better! And NO, dancing with the Wiggles is nowhere near strange enough, do you understand?
So tell me readers, do your relatives, friends or neighbours read your blog ? Do they worry about what you may write about them or do they like being featured (with permission of course)?
And are you normal? (see.... how hard a question is that to answer).