Simple

In high school, everyone wrote in slum books that they are 'simple'. Everyone. Even me. Boy, was I wrong.

I realize that I wasn't simple. I always played devil's advocate during debates because no one ever wanted to take the other side. Everyone else were simple: they knew what they believed in and stuck to it. I wasn't: I would take the other side of the issue because no one wanted to, and I thought I made pretty good arguments, too. (I made some people mad when I said I think the death penalty is like spraying your crops with insecticide: you get to keep the good stuff and get rid of the bugs; you don't want to keep the bugs in little cages and have to feed them, do you?... haha, some people really didn't like that one)

One teacher thought I upstaged her because she didn't know the word I used as an example. I stood up to her. You can't claim to be a simple person if you did that. I was so lucky that my best friend, who was them most stellar good girl ever, stood up for me. Whew! that saved me from getting in trouble with the nuns at school. Disrespecting a teacher would have meted a punishment that would have made me want to die.

I am not simple. I have a husband and a son to care for, a job, cook when I can, blog when I can, party when I can. I burn the phone lines on international calls. At times I make life difficult for people around me.

To all my friends whose slum books I wrote "I am simple" in, let me retract that statement. I am not simple. I like to think I'm multi-faceted: I like many different things, I get into arguments, I change my mind, I have lots of shoes. I am complicated.