Following the Rules

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I’ve considered myself a rule follower for many years. I just barely drive over the speed limit. I’m always on time. I’m kind and courteous to all the people I run into from day to day. But suddenly, I find myself flaunting convention. My latest mantra is that I like to make my own rules. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I am still a rule follower. It’s only the unwritten rules that I like to break.

Women of a certain age shouldn’t wear their hair long, they say. Well, I don’t care what they say. If I want to wear my hair long, I will do so. People must dress up for certain events. I don’t want to dress up. I don’t  own dress clothes. I will wear what I want, and you can look askance at me if you wish because I don’t care. Homes must be decorated in soft neutral tones. It just so happens that I don’t like soft neutral tones, I think they are boring. My home is full of color and life, and it doesn’t matter if you don’t like it. It’s my home, and I like it this way. Grown women should not drive sports cars. Who says? I just bought the car that everyone else wishes they had the nerve to drive. Everyone must over decorate their homes for Christmas, most especially using a Christmas tree. If you don’t, then you must be a Scrooge. It just so happens that Christmas trees are not mandatory, and if I don’t feel like putting one up this year, it’s okay.

And on and on it goes like that. Conventions are not rules. Conventions are for conformists, and I choose not to be one. Now excuse me while I go have cold pizza for breakfast.

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