I've had more than a few people accuse me through the years of being 'shallow.'
I would love for the last thought as my big, teased shellacked hair hits the pillow to be about the $595 pair of Manolo Blahniks I saw at Saks today.
Or to be totally focused on finding that perfect product that would reduce the black circles under my eyes that gives me the appearance of being a loser in last nights bar fight.
What's wrong with being shallow, anyway?
Why can't my life be aaalllll about of a closet full of St. John suits. Size 4 St. John suits.
The dictionary lists numerous synonyms for the term 'shallow.'
'empty, flimsy, foolish, frivolous, idle, ignorant, meaningless, puerile and simple'
God, please make me all of these!
Because if I was 'empty-flimsy-foolish-frivolous-idle-ignorant-meaningless-puerile-and-simple' the death of an 11-year-old boy in my neighborhood - whom, I might add, I never knew existed until I saw his picture and the article in the paper - would not phase me.
You see, the self-absorbed 'empty- flimsy- foolish- frivolous-idle -ignorant-meaningless-pueril- and -simple' me wouldn't give a darn because it doesn't affect me.
Even if I could be just three of these - say, 'empty and flimsy, mixed with just a hint of simple', I would not mourn the death of someone else's child, someone I never knew, nor worry about the welfare and impact on his younger brother and sister.
I wouldn't have this incessant need to do the impossible - to take away their pain.
You see, my accusers are wrong. I'm not shallow. Not in the least.
Because how else can you explain the fact that as I lie here in this king-size bed, with the lights out and the curtains blowing gently in the breeze, I swear I can 'feel' a young mothers heart shattering from over 2 blocks away.