Curriculum Vitae: A banana brain, nose job candidate, constipated, 34C.
I’ve lived a lot of places in my life, and nowhere has seemed as small town as the suburb I call home today. Everyone knows everything about everyone and Good Lord, you don’t want to make a wrong move…kinda like when a married someone I know made out with her kid’s teacher in front of everyone but her husband.
That wasn’t so terrific.
Especially when you say her name in the course of a conversation and the raised eyebrows and knowing glances commence. That’s the way it works around here: Say a person’s name and invariably someone in your conversation circle knows when she pooped last and how often she sleeps with her husband. Or someone other than her husband. Or vice versa. Or versa vice.
I’m telling you: it’s crazy up in here.
My favorite is when someone asks YOU a question and it’s obvious they already know the answer because YOU were the subject of a recent neighborhood gab fest. Apparently matters are not helped by the fact that YOU have a blog where you share intimate details of your swollen right boob.
It’s not like this everywhere. Where I lived last? My neighbors didn’t even know my name. In point of fact, they didn’t care to know. I wasn’t a hippie or an artist OR a stoner, so I wasn’t especially interesting. But put a bunch of moms together? In a town where all the kids go to school together? And I can tell you who feeds their kids too much McDonald’s, who doesn’t discipline enough, who disciplines too much, who spends beyond their means, and whose boobs are fake — along with the approximate date of the surgery and chosen cup size.
I swear every single word of this is true.
This is novel to me. I’m used to being disenfranchised and disconnected. To wondering about the person who lives next door. To looking at a chest and not knowing for sure.
I have to tell you I’m very surprised there’s not a reality show on all of us and our big mouths.
I for one would totally watch the episode starring McKissy Lips CheaterFace.