A Square Peg In A Round Hole By Rose Madeline Mula

I don’t fit in.

For example, I feel I’m the only person on the planet who does not like “Hamilton.” I hate rap, and having it spouted by historical characters in silk knee breeches and powdered wigs does not make it more palatable. The show’s creator, Lin-Manuel Miranda, certainly deserves kudos for his ingenuity; but doesn’t he also deserve some condemnation for trivializing a significant era in American history by making Alexander and his cohorts sound like Snoop Dogg?

Another point: Though I do own a cell phone, I also still have a landline. I simply cannot discard it. But at least it’s serviced by modern, cordless phones and not obsolete, rotary-dial antiques.

Also, I must keep hard copies of every document in my life. My printer is essential, as are my overstuffed file cabinets, even though my filing skills have deteriorated so badly that once a piece of paper disappears into said cabinets, it’s lost forever.

I don’t like tiramisu. Or sushi.

While most of my peers seem to have a compulsion to “get out of the house” every day, even if only to drive aimlessly to nowhere for an hour or two, I hate to leave my home. I’m happy when my calendar shows no outside activity required for the day.

I haven’t been inside a store for two years. I don’t miss any of them. Not a bit. I am delighted to have Instacart deliver my groceries — and Amazon everything else I could possibly want — to my door on demand, without having to navigate aisle after aisle searching for a mango, or that foot callus file I always wanted but could never find. It’s like having my own Aladdin’s lamp!

Most of my neighbors in my condo building have mats at their doors that are truly welcoming. They say “So glad you’re here!” or “Welcome! Come in and cozy up!” Mine says “Oh, no! Not you again!” (I don’t mean it, of course; but I can never resist humor.)

Unlike my girl friends (yes, I still call them “girls”) who visit nail salons regularly, I have had only one professional manicure in my entire way-too-long life.

I still have an AOL email address. I can’t understand all the ads touting the softness of bed sheets. I hate soft sheets. I like
mine crisp. The stiffer the better.

I am writing this on a gorgeous sunny day, sitting on my balcony, surrounded by a multitude of empty balconies. None of my neighbors are on them. Maybe they’re all “out of the house” driving to nowhere. Or at the pool. Not me. I can’t swim. Or ride a bike (one with only two wheels).

I have absolutely no desire to keep up with the Kardashians. Or even the Johnsons down the hall.

If my jeans develop rips, I throw them out. And I certainly don’t spend a boodle of Benjamins to buy brand new, pre-ripped ones.

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A Square Peg In A Round Hole By Rose Madeline Mula

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