A Girl...

Shameless

Simon inside Baja waiting for his fish tacos while I sat in the car and ate my cheeseburger while wearing a Burger King crown.

Over the weekend we mingled with a lot of strangers and semi-strangers. I've noticed that the impressive-looking camera hanging from my shoulder acts as a welcome mat and people are constantly approaching me to talk shop and "examine my glass." Most of them assume I'm a professional photographer, partly because they can't tell the difference between a $1,000 camera and a $10,000 camera and partly because I tend to flit through the crowd snapping candid scenes and avoiding all conversation, acting like I'm hired help when I'm in fact just not very social.

When I explain that I'm not a professional photographer and I don't really know what the hell I'm doing most of the time with all my fancy equipment, the next question the strangers ask is, "Well, then what do you do?" It is at that point I launch into a half-hour speech about how I have the best job in the world and blah blah blah I *heart* semicolons, &c.

Somewhere between detailing the difference between coding manuscripts for Quark and coding manuscripts for InDesign (fascinating!), Simon, like an angel, swoops in with a wink and a smile and saves me from myself. "And what do you do?" the strangers ask him with the wild, desperate look in their eyes that says please, let this one will have a normal, boring job like everyone else so he'll only talk about it for one minute instead of thirty.

Over the weekend, a guy named Ed asked Simon what he did. Simon said, "I'm in the adult film business. I'm mostly on the production end--everything from boom mike operation to directing. But I'd really like to get into acting...see what that's like." *blink blink* Later we met a guy named Duncan. "And what do you do?" he asked, to which Simon replied, "Funeral home director," and left it at that. *blink*

Whenever this happens, I can be found at Simon's side shaking my head and mouthing "no." I hate to disillusion them when they want so badly to believe him, but I also hate the deception, as gentle as it is.

Along the same lines, Simon also sometimes enjoys talking about inappropriate/shocking subjects loud enough for bystanders to hear. For years I've made the joke that I need to wear an "I *heart* my quints" shirt to the grocery store because I buy enough food to feed a full house, but I've never actually done it. Simon, on the other hand, told the guy checking membership cards at Costco that we couldn't shop long tonight because we needed to get back home in time to tuck in the quints, gosh they're getting so big! Cue me and the headshaking and the silent "no."

Overall, I think his ruses are harmless, and I sometimes try to play along, although overriding the circuitry of compulsive truth-telling is harder than it seems. The important thing is that he's good-natured about it, no one's feelings get hurt, and I'm not embarrassed by the behavior.

And Simon? Is not embarrassed by anything at all. Two weeks ago we were out enjoying the only sunny weekend we've had all month; Simon was switching components between two bikes, and I was lounging in the new hammock.

Later that afternoon we went to buy new swim goggles and Simon was trying to decide between the gray shaded lenses and the blue-tinted lenses, the latter of which were packaged as "fitted especially for women's smaller eyesockets." He asked me if it was dumb to buy women's goggles because he liked them better. "Um, honey?" I said. "Are you still wearing the T-shirt you had on earlier today?" He lifted up his sweatshirt. "Yeah." I then announced to the cashier and the other customers in line that my boyfriend was at that very moment wearing a shirt that said "I'm an American Girl." In sparkly letters.

Life is much easier when you don't take yourself so seriously all the time.

Posted by Leah at March 29, 2006 11:45 AM