We are all odd. My family. We don't seem to be quite normal - whatever that is.
My boy. He has worn the same outfit everyday since Christmas. Yes, I wash it. But still. I bought him a hoodie and he loves it, apparently. Every single day, the same shirt. The same pants. It doesn't matter that he has two pair of jeans that are alike, he has to wear the same pair.
But I tell him that weird is good. We like weird around here. What else are ya gonna do?
My girl. She was in a school musical the other night. She did a wonderful job. She was in a choreographed basketball scene and didn't drop the ball, literally. I would have. She had a narrator part and did it perfectly. I'm not allowed to tell her how well she did, though. Or that I'm proud of her. When she's in any kind of performance, she gives us a rundown of the rules.
"Don't look at me and if you do DON'T SMILE AT ME."
"After it's over, don't tell me I did good. Don't smile at me."
We are allowed to say, with a straight face, "it was a good show."
My man. Well, he's got a couple of things. Things about what food isn't supposed to touch what other food and stuff like that.
Me. I don't think the things I do are weird. My family thinks everything I do is weird. So do my friends. Ok, so I talk in foreign accents from time to time. I thought everyone did. I tell myself jokes and laugh at them. I'm funny. I can't help but laugh at my jokes.
Weird is good. We like weird around here.
Go be normal if you want. Whatever that is.