Enjoying Diet Pepsi & Overcoming Shyness

If you are the least bit familiar with this blog, I have no doubt that you read that title, scratched your pretty little head, and thought, "What in the world?" That's because neither of those things is even remotely me. All I can really say about Diet Pepsi and being shy are that I don't fully comprehend either of them. Pour me a Diet Coke and dare me to meet a stranger, I beg of you.

I'm a creature of habit and most of the time, a woman of particular tastes and opinions. As much as I like to think myself wild and unpredictable, I don't usually stray too far from my tried and true--if it ain't broke, after all. A few years ago, there was a show on Animal Planet that we loved called I Shouldn't Be Alive. Each episode, someone would find themselves in a precarious situation and ultimately defy the odds and cheat death to survive the near impossible. Clint and I were relieved to realize we will probably never find ourselves on that show because we don't: mountain climb, snow mobile, deep sea dive, boat, run, hike, bike, ski, hunt, sled...well, you get the picture.

The same way that I will never star in I Shouldn't Be Alive, there are also certain things I will probably never hear during the course of my lifetime. These things are just anti-Susie, and so the odds of them happening are about as good as my winning an Alaskan dog sled race. It's possible, but I wouldn't make any bets. And so, friends, here is a brief list of words least likely to be uttered in my direction:

Aren't you going to finish all of your food? I don't think anyone has ever asked me this, and I'm fairly certain they never will. For better or worse, I'm a lifelong member of the clean plate club. Even if I don't particularly like something, the odds are good that I'll still eat it. After all, I'm a glutton there are starving children in the world. My mom said that growing up, she knew I was really sick when I refused to eat. On mornings when I tried to play hooky and get out of school, all she had to do was offer me breakfast and I would break. I've never been one to miss a meal (or snack for that matter), even if it meant I didn't miss out on an algebra test, either.

Why are you being so quiet? When I was in college, I took voice lessons in an attempt to learn to sing (for a beauty pageant, naturally). My teacher very generously pointed out that I have excellent volume and my voice carries well, aka a microphone is basically optional for this girl. I'm a human megaphone. I struggle to whisper, and I've never, ever been accused of not carrying my end of a conversation. And while I've been shushed in by more librarians than I can count on one hand, I don't think I've ever been asked to speak up.



Do you want a refill on your Pepsi? This one is so integral that it bears mentioning again. Remember those Pepsi Challenge commercials in the '80s? Blindfolded taste testers would sample both Coke and Pepsi, and devout Coca Cola lovers would wind up choosing the taste of Pepsi every single time? I'm going to go ahead and call that false advertising, because there's no way it could ever happen. I accept no substitution or impostors for the cold, delicious refreshment that is Diet Coke. Anything else is an inferior product, and life is too short for that.

Where did you find that polo shirt? I don't believe I have ever willingly owned a unisex item of clothing (summer internships that forced me into collared knit shirts and khaki pants be damned). I can't be me in an outfit that could also belong to a sixteen year old boy, and that includes boat shoes, bomber jackets, sweater vests, and the like. My husband swears I don't like any article of clothing that doesn't either have a ruffle or a sparkle, and I'm okay with that reputation.

Did you forget to use hairspray? I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that extra hold hairspray is the cornerstone of my existence. After all, how can one be a functioning, complete human being with unkempt hair? Answer: you can't, and I won't. I am a woman who is not afraid to curl, tease, mousse, spray...and repeat. Aerosol hairspray got me through my scrunched, banana-clipped days of elementary school and has been a good and faithful friend ever since. When in doubt, spray on an extra layer and know you are ready to take on the world.

Those shoes look so comfortable. I've taken a thorough inventory, and I own exactly three pairs of comfortable shoes (one of those pairs may or may not be my trusty bedroom slippers). I'm not going to tell you how many other pairs of shoes I own, because it's embarrassingly high, but the ones that don't make me want to die/cry/limp/crawl are few and far between. I was raised on the notion that beauty is pain and I'm not afraid to let my feet suffer for the sake of fashion. If a shoe is comfortable, the odds are high that it is also unattractive. When in doubt, put on some Dr. Scholls inserts and a smile, and work that cute and killer shoe.

I'll probably also never get word that I've won a Nobel Prize, and I'm certain no one will ever ask me for advice on carpentry or cross country anything, as wood working and endurance sports are also not my forte. We all have our roles to play, so I will finish this Diet Coke, curl and spray my hair to withstand gale force winds, and keep on not being shy or quiet or hungry, for that matter. And as for these four-inch, platform, ankle strap wedges? Hey, if the shoe fits.