The nice thing about my daughter telling me that I am a very boring person is the way the way that my friends have rallied around me in the aftermath.
“Boring?” one asked. “There are a lot of things I can call you, but not boring.”
“OMG, you are the least boring person ever!” Another one told me. “Of all the things she could have said about you.”
It felt good to have the people I cared about come to my defense.
Until I started to think about what they were saying.
And question them about it.
“So, when you said that there were a lot of things you could call me, what exactly did you mean?” I asked, poised to take notes. Because I’m always looking for synonyms for gorgeous, generous, so wise for your age and whole body hangs off your cheekbones.
“Oh you know, nuts, controlling, insane– that kind of thing,” one soul mate offered.
“Yeah, close-minded, vapid, selfish and lazy,” another one volunteered.
“What?” I was stunned, although not quite into silence. “MOI?”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
“Well, obviously we don’t think that about you,” they told me in what appeared to be a carefully rehearsed monologue delivered by two people. “But that’s the kind of crazy thing that a teenager may have said.”
“Oh,” a tear rolled down my perfectly sculpted cheekbone.
They looked uncomfortable.
And a little guilty.
“But not boring!” they offered. “Yes, definitely not boring!”
I’m so lucky to have such great friends.
But not as lucky as they are to have me.