Despicable me.

I think people getting hurt is funny.

Like, genuinely, knee-slapping funny.

I try to stifle the laughing by keeping my mouth shut and trying not to smile.  The result is a weird sounding guffaw.

I offer up this confessional because I have been realizing that I'm just not that nice.  Now, don't get me wrong.  I think I'm a good person.  I'm just not nice.  No one would ever describe me as sweet (and good for them because I think that the descriptor "sweet" is really chauvinistic). 

Being surrounded by a good amount of saccharine-personality'd BYU students (and being privy to some genuine niceness as well), I have given this a fair amount of thought.  Why aren't I nicer... more aspartame-y? 

So, I've tried.  I've watched - nay, observed - other people in their acts of nicety.  And I just feel that so often being nice means a lack of being genuine.  I must lack this niceness gene that allows me to BS when other people are annoying or, worse, offensive.  I can be tolerant, but I don't (or, perhaps, can't) make people feel all warm and fuzzy while they're being total douche bags.

Am I broken?  Should I try harder?  Is this really a problem?  I know not.  I really value how genuine I perceive myself to be.  Should I sacrifice my genuineness at the altar of niceness?

I blame it all on my mother (whom I admire very much because she always just tells it like it is).

The question that plagues me:  am I really just an itch with a 'b'?


Post a Comment


Lauren Kay House © 2011