A while back Brian and I visited the fam. Much to my pleasure, when we arrived my mom announced that she had found an old home video. If you don’t know, I have a frustrating and terrible memory. When it comes to my childhood, it’s like a giant, black shadow has descended and permanently veiled most of the details. Scrapbooks, albums, videos – I cherish them all and hold my breath in anticipation with every viewing. Most people my age can think back and remember the toys that they used to play with, some of the teachers that they had, some of the clothes that they wore, their friends, their pets… I’ve got nothing.
A video?! How exciting! I wonder what I was like at five years old!
Well, this video captured a family gathering, a celebration. Friends and relatives had come over and were milling around, chit chatting. My dad was in the background, quite animated, telling a football story (this was common at our house and I do believe I picked up on his storytelling enthusiasm). Someone decided that it was time to cut the cake and I was hovering to be the first in line. With my nose directly at the edge of table and my eyes fixed on the dessert, I declared, “I want a squuuuuaaaare piece.” Someone must have motioned to accommodate me. I persisted, “Not that one.”
Brian’s eyes darted at me in widened wonder and fascination (and perhaps a smidge bit of horror). I knew exactly what he was thinking (because my eyes did the same thing).
My husband, “You have not changed at all!”
It’s true. I want a square piece, darn it. I want it because it’s the best one.
I don’t remember that day, but I can take a guess at my reasoning. I’ll betcha I figured that since the cake was round, the square pieces on the inside would be larger than the pieces cut from the outer rim. (And what kid doesn’t want the biggest piece?) Additionally, the inside pieces have less icing. In my opinion, that is the best piece of cake.
Since that day, Brian has called me Square Piece and teased me mercilessly. He, of all people, is most entitled to poke fun at me being that he, of all people, has vowed to love and put up with the square piece in me, till death do we part.
Me, “Brian? Could I some water… with a straw… no ice… in the football shaped glass?”
Brian, imitating a five year old’s whine, “Sure. Do you want a square piece?”
But here’s my justification: the square piece isn’t any harder to accommodate than the regular piece. Consider the number of steps in the average glass of water: 1) get the glass, 2) grab some ice, 3) fill the glass. Now consider the square piece way: 1) get the football glass, 2) fill the glass, 3) grab a straw. You see! Being a square piece doesn’t make you unreasonable and demanding! It just makes you specific. Which is what my bumper sticker says: I’m not picky; I’m just specific. (One of these days I’ll actually take it out of the kitchen drawer and put it on my bumper so that everyone can judge me with enlightened awareness.)
In my humble opinion, wanting a square piece has benefitted me in that it’s enabled me to hone in on the specifics in life. The treasure here is that with the square piece personality comes the finer enjoyment of telling stories. Stories are boring without specifics, first of all. Second of all, there’d be a lot less to tell. For instance, if I wasn’t such a square piece nerd in trying to determine what is the best way to make a mojito, we never would have had The Mint Incident. (You should know that the world would be a sad, dull place without The Mint Incident.) And if I didn’t want a square piece, if I was forever indifferent, I might miss the amusing irony that life has to offer. If you’ve read The Thankful GamePart 1-3, I hope you know by now that this personality doesn’t make me HIGH maintenance. On the contrary, it just makes me specific maintenance.
:)
ReplyDeleteyep, that's my Suzy
love ya, just the way you are
mwah