Yes. I am.

When I was a Freshman in college I took Microbiology. I really loved that class. I thought it was fascinating. In fact, I liked it so much that I retook it the next year.

Just kidding. I retook it because the first time I spent too much time worrying about the boy I was dating that was also in the class. The second time I took it, I still didn't get the grade I wanted because I spent too much time worrying about the boy I was dating that wasn't in the class. I had a Bowling class right before Micro . . . and Nels would walk past my Bowling class just as it was letting out . . . 

It was so hard to go to class when he was asking me to have lunch with him instead. 

Actually, I never told him that I had a class during that time.

Ah. Young love.

Oh. I got sidetracked.

So. Micro. The first time. More specifically, my Microbiology Lab class. I didn't really know anyone in my Lab, which was just fine with me - except when we had to team up to use the microscopes. I don't mind being teamed up with someone I don't know, mind you, but I don't like the feeling of looking around and wondering who else is looking for a partner. Well, the girl that sat across from me turned out to be my microscope buddy and as I was walking around the lab table, in a moment of grace, I stumbled over the leg of one of the stools. I'm cool like that.

I caught myself, stood up straight, and kind of laughed, "Whoo, I'm retarded." With a smile on my face.

However, the girl I was addressing did not smile. She looked at me with a concerned look on her face, dead straight, and said, "No, you're not."

{Eyebrows go up} What? I stopped, sized her up a little more carefully, trying to assertain whether she was serious or not and said, with a smile, "Yes. I am."

If possible, she got even more concerned and said, "No you're not. Don't say that about yourself."

Ummm . . . 

I once again kind of eyed her, not knowing where we should go from here and quickly mumbled, with a smirk, "Yes I am." as I sat down.

It was an awkward moment. And one that has stuck with me for more than ten years now. What to do with a person who doesn't understand self-depricating humor? Who actually argues with you when you laugh at yourself? It was weird.

But I've also realized that sometimes people just don't get it. So. If you are one of those people who just don't get it - don't say anything. When, on my blog or in person, I laugh at myself. I point out my inadequacies. I vent about my short-comings. Don't be the person to say, "No you're not."

I like having the occasional reality check with myself. But also, I don't have any problem with the way I view ME. I'm very comfortable in my skin. I like myself plenty. I'm not fishing for compliments or validation. I'm just talking.