Crazy Old Maurice

I love getting compliments. Don’t you? I’m sure you do. They’re empowering. They feed our esteem. But I think I’ve become desensitized to this one: “You’re so funny!”. Yea great. I can crack a joke. So what. My wit outweighs my I.Q. No big deal.

So today, I was told this same compliment. And I realize that it gets kind of old to hear that. I used to pride myself in being able to come up with a joke or pun that slides perfectly into the conversation. Well. Now I hate it. Because I realized that the only reason I make puns and exercise my wit is because I cover up everything.

I guess I always feel like I need to compensate for something. I’m not skinny, which really isn’t that big a deal. I’m not brilliant, which again isn’t that big a deal. But the superficial preteen in me shouts, “What the hell are you thinking?! People are going to judge you! Make them laugh, dumbass!” And I listen.

Its a shame, isn’t it?

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