It’s difficult being a perfectionist.
So I usually don’t even try.
I leave that to the more neurotic among you, out there…although I have to believe if you’re reading this…well, need I say more.
Probably not, but then all the perfectionists will start complaining that I didn’t tap out an appropriate amount of words to suit your perfect needs.
So I’ll keep on writing...although, as I said….
Driving you crazy, huh?
The truth is—and again we all know, truth is relative, and hardly perfect, much like my favorite relative, Uncle Clarence, who still insists, to this day, he thought those were really shoes—that the thing I’m most perfect at, is being imperfect.
Probably most of us are.
Even the perfectionists…in fact, most certainly the perfectionists.
That’s why they try so hard.
If you’d like an imperfect fried egg…I’m your guy.
Broken yolks, burnt whites…to perfection.
Want your steak cooked perfectly rare…you got it…a long as you don’t mind medium.
My perfect paint job in the living room is kind of neat, as long as you don’t mind those splotches on the woodwork…and the little white dots on the carpet…and yeah…that was a brand new pair of jeans.
Want that nasty red wine stain out of your favorite white shirt…not a big deal. I can get it mostly out and the rest of it will just fade, over time, and besides you’ll probably get used to it soon, anyway
Of course, as you’d expect, the perfectionists will have a hard time dealing with this sort of behavior.
But there are ways of dealing with that…I mean other than sedation.
Take your favorite perfectionist to any fast food joint of his choosing, which they won’t—
Choose that is—because perfectionists wouldn’t be caught dead eating fast food.
Have them order anything they want, which they won’t, also because of the above.
Then order them double of anything you want to get but make sure you give them the bill.
I know, this plan makes no sense at all, and on the surface appears imperfect, both in thought and execution. Sure, the perfectionist is still going to sit there feeling miserable, and dissatisfied…but in the end, you’ll end up with a free meal, of your choosing; and since you ordered for both of you, and they won’t touch any of it, essentially you can have all you can eat.
Sounds pretty perfect to me….
In a perfect imperfection kind of way.
But maybe that’s just me,