The Wretch frequently refers to me as "mildly eccentric." I don't mind. I figure there's worse things I can be. I could be mean or nasty or greedy or crazy. Compared to them, mildly eccentric seems pretty darn good.
And if I'm occasionally any of the above, I chalk it up to menopause, which I'm seeing as a get-out-jail-free card for any number of sins, minor crimes, and misdemeanors. In fact, come to think about it, I'm doing all right. Just because I've been known to send the wrong text to the wrong person (this can be embarrassing when I think I'm writing to The Wretch and it turns out that I've texted something naughty to our bishop), just because I've been known to back into the garage door when it's closed, just because I've been known to burn water, that doesn't mean I'm losing it. Those are merely signs of a creative and active mind.
Gem for the day: embrace your inner weirdness. (I know--you thought I was going to say something different, didn't you?)