Shy Children

Hello, my friends.

As I write this, I sit here in as an adult woman wearing $15 oversized, doughnut patterned, flannel pajamas I bought at Kmart. I’m wearing 4 different colors of eye shadow, burning my already dried out eyelids. I’ve previously mentioned the Gold Bond I’ve purchased and I’m steadily working my way through the tube. If you can believe it, I never used to be this wild.

We all know and love the BuzzFeed Quiz. Which potato are you most like? What color booger are you? BUT the holy grail: Are you an introvert or an extrovert?

It seems with the break of all this quiz fever, the introvert/extrovert theme kept coming up over and over again. It got me to thinking about my life as a shy child, forever suctioned to my mother’s leg, forced to respond to inane questions at my family’s functions. “Where did you get that dress? Can I borrow it?” a cheerful 40-year old woman would screech into my face. No, you idiot. You’re OshKosh days are long gone.

How did I go from shy child to indifferent adult telling the world about the types of shits I take and how much I’m sweating?

Shy child syndrome lasted from about kindergarten to three years after I graduated college. I still feel traumatizing moments lurking around the corner.

The worst for me was ordering at restaurants.

The happy server grinning, “AND WHAT CAN I GET FOR YOU?!”

I dreaded my turn. I’d whisper, “pasta with marinara sauce.” Please leave me alone.

“SORRY, DIDN’T CATCH THAT SWEETIE. WHAT WAS THAT?”

Dammit. I’d whisper again “pasta with marinara sauce.”

Good enough for you?

“THE PEPPERONI PIZZA?”

Shit. That was my cue to nod and eat whatever gruel they presented with me. Unless my mother would pipe up and ruin everything.

“LAUREN, SPEAK UP. SHE’D LIKE THE PASTA WITH MARINARA SAUCE.”

Nooooooo mother. How could you betray me? I couldn’t let them win. My 9-year-old pride was to impenetrable. “NO I’D LOVE THE TRIPE!” Let me die here please.

There were many a-time when I would be choking to death on an onion or paint chip and I’d sit in silence, suffering and waiting for death to take me. I could usually play it off in a crowd but mothers have a sixth sense when their child is  casually choking to death before their eyes. I vividly recall choking on a D’Angelo’s sub in the middle of the food court. My windpipe sealed shut. I would’ve been happy to die there, clear bra straps coming out of my Weathervane crop top with a giant glittery “68” on the front. But my mother had different plans.

“SHE’S CHOKING, MY GOD SHE’S CHOKING!”

Shut up and let me die, Marge. 

The situation was diffused when she fisted my mouth and removed the offending string of vidalia,..

SO, my question to you children: Are you an introvert or an extrovert? Were you a shy or an outgoing child? (Loki voice) TELL ME. 

k love you don’t forget to wipe your feet before ruin nana’s carpet

8 Comments

  1. Well, I was the opposite. As I child, I was an extrovert, bossy and loud, however, as I grew up I became an introvert. I still manage to offend people, though (they don’t expect it which makes it funnier). Great post 🙂

  2. HA-larious! And for the record…I wear pj’s from Kmart as well. Aint no shame in that. To answer your question, I was born an introvert. But THOSE people who like to call themselves my family, forced me to be an extrovert. Its all cool now, like the Fonz..

    1. My family tried SO HARD to get me to be extroverted BUT having way too much pride as a child, I didn’t become more social and outgoing until later in life when I moved out on my own. I still enjoy the solitude of being in my room for 8 hours with my laptop and a some bags of chips. 😀

  3. I’m an introvert that can turn on my outgoing personality when I need it. I can be the life of the party or a piece of furniture at a party. And being sarcastic doesn’t help. I also hate people and would much rather sit at home and blog about worthless advice and my sarcastic thoughts to no one but my cat. Thanks for asking the question and making me face up to my introvert nature.

    1. Yes! I switch given my mood or the situation. A comedian vs. a hermit (although I’m sure some may argue my standup is like watching a piece of furniture).

      I’m glad you answered, tell your cat I say hi.

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