Pompous

The weirdest thing just happened to me. I was walking back to my office when a co-worker complemented me on my shoes. I thanked her, and then she told me that I acted stuck-up. Conversations ensued.

“I like your shoes! They look like they glow.”

“Thank you,” I solemnly replied.

“Why do you act so weird? You always act stuck-up.” Her eyes burned delicate holes through me.

“Really? I don’t mean to.”

My entire life, my parents have raised me to be thoughtful, courteous and polite. Then, a lady who has been really nice to me for the duration of my employment here tells me that I’m stuck-up. Frankly, I have no clue how to deal with something like this. Do I simply forget it, or make a forward attempt to correct it. I could always rationalize it as a sleep deprived, soulless mumble, but that would do nothing but entice the situation into more of a feverish bark.

I honestly have no clue why she called me stuck-up, and I have even less of a clue as to why it is getting under my skin so much. I guess my pent-up disappointment could be using this as an outlet to escape without my knowledge. If this is the case, it amazed me to see the amount of tact and diplomacy my body unknowingly possesses, allowing me to calm down through the most trivial of arguments. That fact brings up the question that I will ultimately dread: “If my body is capable of doing this without my knowledge, what else is my body doing behind its back?”