I am not the best. At, like, anything.
You know how people win awards and races and they get medals and honorable mentions and stuff? Well, not me. Nope.
Once when I played a piano trio in the Stirling Music Festival when I was a kid. My friends and I were the only ones in our level, competing against no one. We came in second. WTF?
Sometimes my husband gives me a hard time for being non-competitive. It bothers him that I don’t really care if our kids win in sports, I only care if they have fun. It really, really bothers him that I don’t care if he and I win at Euchre when we’re playing against his parents. But honestly, would you if you were me? Because I don’t win. Ever. What’s the point in being competitive when you come in second competing against yourself in the freaking Stirling festival????
I once read an article that blamed this non-competitive feeling on my being a girl. Apparently I’ve been raised to believe that if I’m not instantly good at something I should just give up and pursue the things I am good at. OK. Done. So, I’ve decided I’m pursuing writing, baking and makeup application (have I mentioned I’m really good at that?) — ’cause I totally rock at makeup application. Totally. But, I mean, I’m not the best.
So, could someone just give me an award already?
Even if its just one of those medals everyone gets at the last game of the season?
I never got one of those. They didn’t have them when I was little. If they did, I wouldn’t have had to write the sad, sad blog.
Or maybe I could just get a “world’s best mom” mug from my kids? No? Oh, OK.
Insert sad face here.
Jeesh. Who wants to come to my pity party tonight?