Some people aim for individuality. Seeking that which sets them apart from the masses. They shun conformity and attempt to authenticate themselves as an anomaly. I thought I was one of these people, and maybe I do have a streak of that rebel running through me. Honestly though, I think I'm really quite cliche. In a female, blonde, SAHM, rocker chic, bookworm, American middle class, Mormonish, nympho, depressive tendency kind of way.
So when I say cliche, I'm talking in terms of a normal 30 year old, American female who constantly is fighting to stay in the "normal weight" range to keep from crossing over to the "overweight" category on that damn BMI chart. Does this remind you of anything? Such as almost every plot in that "old" Cathy comic strip? You know, the frazzled, body, boy, & clothing obsessed stereotype from the Sunday funnies? Did you know she finally got married? So yeah, dye her hair blonde and throw in 2 kids, and I'm Cathy, wading my way through the "four basic guilt groups" love, food, mom, & work. (Cathy. (2011, August 4). In Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. Retrieved 22:41, August 21, 2011, from http://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Cathy&oldid=443070617)
My most recent "Cathy" struggle was yesterday. In retrospect I could probably pull up an actual comic strip from the archives that would frame by frame my experience of getting dressed yesterday. After coming back from my vacation at my moms house and eating too much zucchini bread & chocolate, even the new outfit of pressed chambray bermuda shorts & a white crocheted vest over top a graphic tee that she bought me had lost its flattering thinning power, and I was forced to accept the obvious conclusion that I really am as wide as the reflection in the mirror. In an attempt to use a little love & logic on myself my inner self retorted "but at least you are smart and aren't dull as cardboard"...that got me as far as the closet, where I tried on one more pair of shorts and slumped down in a teary eyed heap. Surrounded by discarded "non-options", I blended into a cliche turned stereotype. My favorite though, is the male response to this cliched scenario. They try, they really do, and I think they know that in our crazy female heads we misconstrue even the most well intentioned comment on this front. For instance, "What you don't cover in raw beauty, you make up for in personality & intelligence"...in which my female "mental hilarity/insanity" interperets as "That is a stereotypical fat girl statement (but... you are smart & funny). Great, I"m now THAT stereotypical fat girl with wit & brains." And just a side note guys, it is NOT a good idea at the juncture when your wife is having a "closet melt down", to suggest watching both The Biggest Loser and Hoarders to make you feel better about yourself. All she will hear is, "Really!? I've sunk so low on the spectrum that the only people worse off than myself are the morbidly obese, and people living amongst dead cats? Really!?"
My recent experience with a stereotype occurred at an intersection. My little boys and I were stopped at a light with a few cars in front of us. I glanced in the rear view mirror and saw a yellow sports car barreling towards us. Crash. Rear ended with some force. So we pull over and out of the car jumps a woman about 40 (blonde, fingernails, it's Texas), she immediately begins apologizing profusely and helping me check my scared but unharmed boys. After walking to the rear of my car to survey the damage and seeing only some gauges, & scrapes she grabs my arm, stares me with pleading tearing eyes and says "It's my husbands brand new Camaro, we are going through a messy divorce, he's going to kill me." At this point she leans in to hug me and starts apologizing again. I tell her we are all okay, we will be fine. At this point she hugs me and says "Will you come look with me? I can't look at the front of my car." So we all walk over to the front of the bright new shiny Camaro and see the front end completely smashed, crack, & broken. She hugs me again and cries (trying to shield her tears from my kids). After composure is reestablished we exchange the necessary information and part ways. Once again with the image of a bright yellow Camaro and the classic blonde, emotional, woman driver stereotype blending into a truism in our rear view mirror.
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