Why me?

 

I was always the good one.  You know the type, the girl who doesn’t drink, do drugs, smoke, cuss, or sleep around.  She may hang out with those who do some or all of those things, but she sits quietly in the corner and soaks in the ambiance instead of contributing to it.  Yep, that was me.  My parents had no idea how lucky they were (or maybe they did) because I had every opportunity to do all of the above and cause them untold grief.  But I didn’t.  I’ve pretty much stayed the good girl throughout my life.  I still don’t smoke, my only drugs are vitamins or the necessary, I’m a faithful wife, and I only drink a few sips here and there for the flavor, not for the high.  I obey the law; I pay my bills, pay my taxes, and teach my children to do the right thing.  Yep, that is me.

So tell me this.  Why is it I am the one who is always suspected of being the bad guy?  When I was about 10 I was suspected of shoplifting.   Of course it didn’t help that earlier that same day I had been playing some pretend game at home where I had stuffed water-filled insoles into my denim jumpsuit.   And so later at McCrory’s, when the suspicious sales clerk grabbed me by my arms and shook me viciously, the insoles fell out through my pant legs.  Yes, I did look guilty, but I was innocent, I tell you!  Come to think of it, why did my parents not sue the pant legs off of McCrory’s?

Skip ahead to high school.  I was invited to a Cheap Trick concert by my most favorite person of the day, and he bought me a t-shirt.  I wore it to school, of course.   A few days later my English teacher pulled me aside after class and apologized to me.  She said she saw me wearing the t-shirt and she basically thought I was advertising myself as a cheap trick.  She had since learned it was only a band t-shirt and she felt so sorry for having such bad thoughts of me she had to apologize.  I didn’t know why she was apologizing.  I didn’t even know what a cheap trick was.  Did I mention I was a senior in high school?

In college I spent a summer studying abroad in Jamaica.  The opportunities to indulge in every vice, especially drugs, were presented to me not just daily, but hourly.  Did I concede?  Of course not, I was the good girl.  What I did do was get the most fantabulous tan, learn my school lessons, explore a beautiful island and eat some great food.  Oh, and I got my hair braided, complete with colorful beads.  I was feeling pretty good about myself, yes, indeed.   Maybe it was my envious tan, or braided hair, or maybe it was the six-pack of Red Stripe I bought for my brother, but for whatever reason, I was the one, the only one who was pulled out of line in customs to be searched.  Forget the guys in line with me who stayed high the whole time, it was innocent, gloriously tanned, me who had to have her bags searched while the rest of my group was literally running to the connecting flight home.  My oldest friend and travelling partner and my professor were kind enough to wait on me.  Of course my folly made rich fodder for my professor’s ribbing later and forever.

And now there’s my most recent incident.  I spent this last weekend with family visiting my niece in Michigan. We spent some great time shopping at thrift stores, quirky boutiques, and my favorite chain stores not available in my area.  At my favorite store, World Market, I picked up a few things including a bag of pumpkin scone mix and an interesting, shiny red, wind-up double egg timer.  I only bought small things I could pack to bring home, leaving in Michigan a fantastic art deco vintage lamp and lovely ceramic nativity because I knew it was impractical to pack such things.  Oh, and I also bought two bags of gourmet popping corn for my husband because he doesn’t like the microwave kind.  I now know that pumpkin scone mix and popping corn look very suspicious when they go through an x-ray machine.  And stick a metal timer next to dense objects and TSA will surely think you have the makings of a bomb in your suitcase.  Luckily the TSA officer meticulously going through my dirty laundry was a very nice and informative man.  He gave me good advice on how maybe next time I could order the popcorn online because, afterall, there was a website address on the packaging.  And, yes, the timer was quite interesting; he’d never seen one like that before.  Knowing I am innocent and trying to avoid embarrassment at all cost I cheerfully encouraged him in his duties, and if searching me meant stopping something bad from getting onto my plane, then have at it.  

I’ve no doubt that I will continue to be the good one, sitting quietly and soaking up the ambiance of those around me who are whooping it up. Sometimes I might take more than a few sips for flavor, and get a little loud with them.  But whatever I might do in the future, I am sure of one thing.  I will order my scone mix and popcorn online, and I will forgo interesting double egg timers.  I will go for the antique lamp and ceramic nativity even if it they make for impractical packing.  And for the record, the tan and braids were worth it!