What I Keep Waiting On

I was raised a skeptic.  Anything worth looking at was worth looking at with one eyebrow raised.  Why take anything at face value when you can rip it apart to expose its bleeding innards for all the world to see?  Why believe anything when there’s so much you could question, mock or eyeroll about?

So when it comes to anything to do with growing up, being a professional, falling in love or generally existing, of course I’m going to sit myself down, give myself a terse little frown and say, “Really, Dootsie?  Are you sure you’re doing any of this right?”

All my life, I’ve been waiting on something to validate me.  For some outside source to come along and give my life a stamp of approval.  But of course, that could actually happen and I’d just wonder who gave that guy his credentials.  Oh, he’s literally the expert on lives and grown ups?  Suuuuuuure.  I bet.

I was complaining about the little mistakes I keep picking up on in my magazine.  My aunt suggested I have someone else look at it, someone who’s not as close to it.  She thought I wasn’t objective about it.

Of course she was right.  I can’t be objective at all because my natural, first reaction is to look for the cracks.

My grandma once showed a photo of a local beauty pageant to my mom.  My grandma was waiting on my mom to coo or express how lovely she was.  My mom glanced at it and commented that poor girl’s deodorant was caked.

I used to think I had an editor’s eye, but I realize I’ve got a vulture’s eye.  If I don’t see the rot, I circle and wait until it appears.

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