Silly Goose

There’s lots of things one might aspire to be in life – but one thing not many people put on that list is: SILLY. Which is…a….damn…. Shame (yes. With a capital S).

There’s a certain demanded seriousness to life that’s always kind of rubbed me the wrong way. Sure. I can be focused, and all business and professional when it is called for. Sure. I can be toned down and serious and solemn when need be. But my natural modus operandi is silly. I’m a rebel that way.

There’s one thing I’ve always learned – no one is going to take you seriously if you take yourself too serious. You lose the feeling of being a ‘real‘ person when all you show is a carefully poised exterior.

So I’ll always be the one to carve into inappropriate topics at work and make my colleagues laugh (and blush). I dive into ball pits at McDonald’s. I eat silly colored foods with all the maximum amounts of sprinkles and I drive my shopcart through the store like it’s a train. It doesn’t matter that I’m over 30. #IdowhatIwant.

For instance: I was on a Poke-walk late yesterday afternoon when I took a different turn than usual (because I spotted a pokestop I hadn’t visited before). This new road took me right up next to a little park with a small group of trees and a HUGE (I kid you not, mountainsized) pile of raked leaves.

And I just….

Had….

To jump into it.

I stood next to the pile, spread my arms and just let myself drop backwards into this pile. It was awesome (even though I ended up with twigs entangled in my curls and bits and crunchy pieces in crevices that I’d rather not have them…). I think I lay there for a good 5 minutes giggling. Playing Pokemon on my phone. Smelling the intense Autumn aroma of slightly soggy leaves and just – being. The older couple walking by had the biggest smiles when they moved past my weird self. It was great.

All throughout my life I’ve never really cared why people laugh – as long as they do. Whether they’re laughing with me or at me is of no importance. I thrive on smiles. And I have all the silly in me to make them happen.

It’s one of the things I loved most about my previous relationship. That silliness was not only accepted but appreciated. And it’s the type of thing I will from now on always actively look for in partners.

I’ve been with the type of guys who used to frown when their grown-ass girlfriend saw a seesaw and DEMANDED to get on it together. Been with the guys who look away in embarrassment when I procure the fluffiest of IKEA sharks in a store and proceed to photograph said shark in compromising positions. Not that that’d ever stop me. Behaving like a sane person never suited me. It looks off when I act all normal. The world knows better.

All I’ve ever learned up til this point is that acceptance is the highest goal in (romantic) life. I want the guy who’ll grab my hand and skip down the road WITH me (I friggin love skipping) even though we’re middle aged people and folk are staring.

I mean – I bounce around the softbal field every now and then and that usually ends with confused looks and even the younger guys shaking their heads in that ‘omg there she goes again, what the HELL is she doing‘ fashion. (Which, as per fucking usual, doesn’t stop me in the slightest). Doesn’t take away from the fun of it in the least (pfew!).

But no. IF and WHEN I do get my ass back on the market and find me a lover – they’re going to (have to) accept all the silly that’s in me. They’re going to spread their arms and (attempt to) catch me when I run up to them American romcom fashion and jump in their arms, even though I’m way too heavy for such things and will possibly crush them. They WILL allow me to buy tiny little marshmallows to decorate the whipped cream with on the pancakes they’ll have to bake me (since I am incapable of making them myselves). They’ll love all those parts about me that all the serious people furl their brows at, while secretly wishing they hadn’t horrendously murdered their inner child years prior.

And I’ll be sure to put a smile on their face every single silly day. Up until I’m a granny who dies her cotton candy hairdo an actual pink, in those Bigfoot slippers and a Hugh Hefner robe – throwing popcorn at the nursing home nurses while commenting on the other grannies in the voice of those two grumpy Muppets on the balcony. Epic.

Now if you’ll excuse me – there’s a playground about a 15 minute walk away that I used to drive past on the way to my ex – with one of those pully-platforms over a small pond that I always vowed to one day play on. Today shall be the day that I conquer that pully bridge. Or freeze to death in a pond in november when I inevitablyfall in cause I’m a clumsy fuck. At least that’s a sufficiently silly way to go!