He's super insightful, nonchalantly hilarious, and very attractive. Therefore, I keep him around.
Anyway, he and I were chatting. He was laughing at me for something. I think it was my footwear.. I'm not sure...
Yes. That was it.
He snickered at my footwear that I so proudly purchased at Savers for 6 dollars and 85 cents. I looked at him with my disbelieving face and, with an angry (or as angry as I could pretend to be, seeing as his disapproval didn't really bother me. He loves me for my clothing choices, in real life) tone of voice, I said, "Why can't you ever just take me seriously?" He turned to face me, and his eyes slightly squinted, as if he were trying to understand my logic in asking that question. "Mallory," he said. "Do you even take yourself seriously?" He stood there with wide eyes, giving me the chance to say something in turn. I had no response. I opened my mouth to give some grand retort, but all that came out was a popping sound from the back of my throat. I had nothing to say. He took a deep breath and began to turn away while saying, "That's what I thought."
Our playful banter that consisted of a flirtatious tone had taken a sharp turn and I was suddenly swimming in a sea of flustered questioning.
Do I take myself seriously?
No. No I do not. For, how can I? I'm not of the serious nature. And I've no hopes for doing anything wonderful in this life. I'm one of 7 billion. There's nothing noteworthy about me. What is there to take seriously?
Or maybe the answer is yes. Yes I do. Why shouldn't I? I'm brilliant in my overflowing pool of flaws. I have accepted myself for what I really am, which, for the record, isn't anything good. That's taking one's self seriously, is it not?
I couldn't, for the life of me, decide upon the answer.
What is it to "take yourself seriously?"
I honestly have no answer.
This is just a question I'd like to throw out into the void.
So, as Kathleen Kelly would say,
Good night, dear void.
Love (serious love),