Lent is a time for confession, right? So why not use this semi-public forum to admit that I am a total tragedy snob. I like to be the best worst.
This extremely ugly aspect of my personality came up recently, when I ran into an old friend. She mentioned that 2005 had been a particularly bad year for her. All I could think was, “You think that’s bad? Let me tell you about my 2005.”
Surely, I thought, her 2005 couldn’t have been that bad. She had the same husband, same kids, same house. Of course, so did I (except for the house–we moved that year).
And really, looking back, 2005 wasn’t that bad, it just seemed so at the time. 2007-2010 are all good candidates for best worst. For the moment.
I take a perverse delight in my tragedies. I honestly think I am a better person than people who have lived safe, vanilla lives.
Yes, it’s horrible. That’s why it’s called confession.
I think this is one reason my job is such a good fit for me. I write for a magazine, and I specialize in trivia. Tips. How to Keep Your House Clean Without Losing Your Sanity, stuff like that. A few times a year I get to interview truly wonderful people, and I always come away humbled.
So I’ll probably never write a tell-all memoir. Not because I’m shy, but because I’m just too darn stuck up. I’d hate for someone to read it and say, “You think that’s bad? Let me tell you about my 2005.”
