Rockin' My Argyle Socks

For the past week, everywhere I go I've been receiving compliments of one sort or another. Seriously, what gives? Did I somehow miss the memo that declared this NPW Appreciation Week? Not that I mind in the least, of course, it's just that the super concentrated amounts of compliments makes me suspicious that next week the fun will end and I'll just be a regular super librarian once again. In any case, I must have done something karmically pleasing to deserve this recent deluge of delightful comments. Could it have been that time last week when I put a quarter in someone's meter that had run out because I saw the Cambridge meter maid nazi doling out the tickets a few cars away? I may never know.

Standing in line at Diesel the other day a (very handsome, very gay) man turned to me and said, "I just wanted to tell you, I love your frames." Why thank you, kind sir, Giorgio Armani loves them too!

A friend of mine was complaining about her hair being stick straight and thin, suddenly turning to me to say, "Why can't I have awesome hair like yours?" (Actually, this one was kind of a laugh since I've been struggling with these bangs since my last haircut.)

Waiting to get into the power mat pilates class last night a woman commented that I had beautiful eyes. I think I even blushed- partly because I was embarassed and partly because I think she was hitting on me. But you know what they say, eyes being windows to the soul and all.

I've also got mad props lately for my ultimate frisbee skillz, my sense of humor, and my library know-how. One fellow teacher went so far as to call me "the best in the business". Damn straight, no one changes an overhead bulb like I do. Rock, rock on.

Anyway, I'm thinking the whole "complimenting me with shameless abandon" thing needs to stop now- not because I don't like it, more because I do. I might actually start to believe them, and then where would we be? I'd have no self-deprecation left for this blog so I'd stop writing, then you'd stop reading, then we'd both cry because we missed each other, and really, who wants that?