Everything Is About Me, Always

I tend, on ZFS!, to only discuss things in which I'm directly involved or opinions that are distinctly mine, because, well, obviously I'm a self-obsessed egomaniac who thinks that everything should be about me, me, me, me, me, ME!!! I mean, why else would I have a blog? Talking about yourself on the internet is, after all, the only kind of masturbation you can do at work that won't get you labeled as "that creepy guy who's always taking copies of Ladies Home Journal into the men's room."

However, and despite my protests to the contrary, it seems that things of interest do in fact occasionally happen to other people that are not the C-dog (I know, I was just as shocked as you).

This is one such thing:

NOTE: Don't worry, I'll find a way to make this all about me... somehow...

Girlfriend was out and about the other day and, by chance, happened to run into a co-worker of hers. This co-worker is an older woman, mid-60's, and is Polish (or something similarly Slavic); she doesn't speak English very well, but she's super-nice and damn grandmotherly. So, she and Girlfriend are talking and Co-Worker says, "Oh, I've noticed that you've lost weight; you look very good." Girlfriend says, "Thanks, yeah, I've been exercising a lot, etc." And then Co-Worker says...

"I saw you the other day in that black dress of yours; you looked so pretty, like you were all dressed up to lose your virginity."

Seriously. Now, my first instinct is to write this off as a "lost in translation" sort of thing; the woman doesn't, after all, speak the language that well so who knows what she actually meant. Or maybe she did mean it that way, but in her culture that's just how you tell someone that they look smokin' hot. And I suppose there's always a chance that this kindly, sweet woman was flat-out calling my girlfriend a whore, though I'd prefer to think that wasn't the case. Girlfriend just laughed it off, of course, but me... I'm left with questions.

Well, one question, actually.

Why doesn't anyone ever tell me that I look like I'm dressed up to lose my virginity? Granted, I don't know exactly what that would entail; a nice pair of easily-removed slacks, maybe? A dress shirt hosed down with Drakkar Noir? Edible boxers? Look, all I'm trying to say is that's a compliment that I've never been paid and I think, frankly, that that's bullshit. Now, true, I don't really ever look "nice" in the traditional sense. As far as aesthetics go, I tend to favor a recently cleaned-up drug addict out on a day pass from the methadone clinic, which is a look not prone to cause spontaneous verbal reinforcement. Still... bullshit.

Whatever. I don't even care. Don't need your Polish Co-Worker Lady compliments anyway. I mean, I think we all know what's really important here, and that's the fact that I was able to take my Girlfriend's story and make it into something about me, as I said I would.

Which means that everything is as it should be.