ENTHUSIASTIC HELLOS REALLY MEAN " I'M AFRAID OF PEOPLE"

So I just moved into a new place, and boy oh boy is it beautiful.  My parents were lovely enough to help me move, and it went quite smoothly.  Later, upon sitting down to a cold beer and piece of food, my father casually said to me, "Oh I met your neighbors."  Oh? I said.  really?  What were they like?  "Oh they were nice enough."  The next thing he said was in a tone that frightened me.  A don't-worry-I've-got-this-covered-tone (which usually means I-did-something-you-didn't-ask-me-to-d0-with-potentially-disastrous-results).  "Don't worry," he continued.  "I told them you like your privacy and pretty much keep to yourself."

Oh? You said that?  You told them I pretty much keep to myself?  Oh, thank you!  Thank you so much.  Thank you for describing me to my neighbors in such a way that would indicate that I am most likely a murderess or agoraphobe.  Then I thought, maybe I'm overreacting.  Maybe they didn't dwell on what he said the way I did.  Maybe I would meet them one day while we were unlocking our respective doors and I would say an enthusiastic hello and they would do the same.  But then again, what if they didn't?  What if my enthusiastic hello seemed too enthusiastic, too eager- in fact, so forced and through gritted teeth that I seemed terrifying.   Having been described as someone who keeps to myself (which is something of which most killers are accused) the eager volume and timbre of my "Hello" might seem like I'd finally stopped relating to other people in a normal way.  It would seem like I'd stopped being that high-functioning, controlled Patrick Bateman and become a sweat soaked, coked-out, rampaging Tony Montana.  

So maybe it would be better if I didn't say hello, maybe it would be better for them to think I'm just an anxious shut-in who doesn't know how to relate to anyone or anything but books and plain yogurt.  So that is just what I did.  For the past week, I kept my head down and tried to close my door quietly so as not to draw attention to the fact that I ever left or returned.  But a couple of days ago upon coming back from the grocery store, I couldn't get to my keys fast enough.  I heard steps in the hallway quickly approaching.  The hairs on my neck stood on end.  It couldn't be!  Not my neighbors!  But it was.  It was indeed.  Just as I was turning the knob, a woman dressed in yoga pants and a hemp-y looking shirt rounded the corner into our alcove.  

I turned directly toward her, tits forward, and way to loudly blurted, "HI."  Fuck. Fuck me.  Why did I have to do that?  It was like saying hi to the total baldwin at the dance and totally freezing.  I didn't sound friendly, I didn't sound eager, I didn't even sound creepy.  I just sounded scared.  She met me with a tender "Hello" in return, and a nod that held so much pity I could have fallen down dead right then and there.

So now I must resign myself to being the terrified little mouse she and probably her husband think I am.  Now those fateful words my father uttered, "She likes to keep to herself," have really taken flight.  Their portrait of me is fleshed out and  three dimensional.  Now when they don't see me because I sneak out only after checking the peephole, now when they don't hear me because I keep the television and my voice to a whisper, they'll just feel sorry for me and my tiny, insular existence.

But on the bright side, when my parents and the pigs break down my door six months from now and find me in an igloo made of pizza boxes watching "Lois and Clark" in the fetal position, at least they won't be surprised.

until next time,

Mrs. God

p.s. for fun, two of my favorite total baldwins.