Someone tracked dog doo on the carpet and up the stairs yesterday. I scrubbed up that mess, and followed it up with a few more minutes cleaning up cat yorp. This is my life. All the while I mused about something my friend told me at lunchtime – my town has an A-list.
My life has been spent pretty much off the A-list. I was the kid everyone fought to have on the other team in kick ball. Never a cheerleader, didn't make homecoming queen, passed over for a sorority. Don't get me wrong - I've had my share of friends - good ones. I'm quite happy and I think pretty well-adjusted. But I find myself being envious of the people who are invited to all the right everything, and yet I'm a little uncomfortable once I'm actually in the room.
In my imagination, A-listers never have to deal with mundane matters like bodily fluids. They have people calling them for intimate dinners, cocktail parties and weekends away. Their children get invited to all the nice birthday parties and their houses are always clean, with fabulous furniture.
I have a lot of ambition too, but the social kind, or maybe it's just social savvy, got left out of my DNA. I'm left with my own day dreams about becoming a back-up singer, what I'd make to win a Project Runway challenge, and my Nobel Prize acceptance speech. Like my bathrobe?
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