Sometimes I wonder, am I the only normal person on the planet? There are days when I feel like the whole world is crazy and I'm the only one who makes sense. But if that's the case, does that make me, in fact, abnormal? You see, sometimes I have these conversations with my friends and family where they say things and I just wonder, "Where on earth did you come up with that?" We already know WH is prone to thoughtful musings, but there are others in my life who often surprise me.
My friend the Gay Lawyer and I were talking the other day. I was telling him about a particularly eggregious smell that I encounter on a regular basis. He informed me that I should keep a little jar of Vick's handy so that I can quickly put a little under my nose to avoid the smell, because that's what they do "in the morgue." I'm not sure how he knows this, other than from watching Silence of the Lambs (yeah, I remember that scene, too).
Then there's my sister. She has an unnatural fear of little people. Not children, I mean, but Little People (midgets, in the vernacular). I can still remember a phone call from her while she was in college. "There's a midget at my school. I saw him in the cafeteria and had to leave before I passed out." You'll be happy to know she eventually did overcome her fear, sort of. She actually talked to the kid at her school and stopped being afraid . . . of him. But make her watch a movie with Vern Troyer and she starts to sweat.
Another famous story in our family is the time, when why the ketchup wasn't on the table, my mother declared, "Ketchup? Who ever heard of putting ketchup on a burger?" Uh, everyone? To this day, we can't enjoy a hamburger without waxing philosophical about ketchup, much to my mother's chagrin.
And while I reflect on all the oddities of my friends and family, I also remember a time on Metro when I myself pulled a weird one out of hat. I was riding during an off time, and this woman sat down next to me. She kept looking at me, but I ignored her because I don't make friends when I ride public transportation (and neither should you!). Finally she caught my eye and told me she wanted to talk to me about my personal relationship with Jesus. "We're not all that close," I wanted to tell her, but knew this would result in a much longer converation and all I wanted to do was shut her down. Clearly she had not heard the old adage about not talking religion or politics, especially with people you don't know.
It was going to take something really good to make her stop. And then inspiration hit me like a ton of bricks! This happened to be the same week that Pope John Paul II had died, so I called on my years of acting classes and a little old-fashioned Catholic guilt (which I have also had years of). "I'm sorry," I told her, "you see, I'm a Catholic and I'm just so broken up about the Pope that I can't talk about it right now." And then I eked out one single tear. It was miraculous. The Orange Line Evangelist shut her Bible and gave me a knowing look, "I understand." Uh, no, I don't think you do. And for just a moment I felt evil, until I realized what a great actress I am and got over it (take that Meryl Streep).
So, while I don't randomly rattle off hints from the coroner's office, balk at the site of Tatoo from Fantasy Island, or only put mustard on my hamburger, maybe I'm not exactly normal. But isn't that what makes the world much more interesting? I know it's certainly made my world a more entertaining place. And maybe normal is overrated after all.