The Imperfectionist

by

Today, my friend T told me that she’s doing a women’s group study.  I was surprised because typically she tells me about these classes before they start.  In case I want to join in.

Hmm, why wasn’t  I invited?

“What’s the class about?”  I asked.

“ Well, it’s designed to help with perfectionism.”

“Maybe, I can come with you next time?”  I can’t resist asking even though I don’t want to go.

Pause

“I can’t see you enjoying this one.  Honestly Monica, you don’t struggle with perfectionism.”

(Maybe I don’t, but it feels insulting to hear it spoken out loud.)

“Actually, I struggle a great deal with perfectionism.”

(I don’t really get how perfectionism is a problem.  That’s my struggle.  Anyway, she should leave it alone, don’t you think? She doesn’t.)

“No, you don’t, silly.  I’ve never seen even one aspect of your personality that brings to mind a perfectionist.  You are like the anti-perfectionist.  HAHA!  Seriously, it’s a good thing.  Wait, you aren’t mad are you?”

I wasn’t mad at T, but I was mad.  I was mad at never having perfectionist problems.  What I refer to as evolved women’s problems.  Problems typically written about in magazines and blogs written for women.  Here’s a sampling;

I can’t stop dieting!

My children are too perfect!

I’m addicted to working out!

I work too hard.

My expectations are too high!

What do I wear to the Met Gala?

My problems are the exact opposite, but some perverse part of me wouldn’t admit it.  Instead I challenged her.  Never challenge a perfectionist.  She’s in it, to win it.

“Name 3 things that disqualify me from perfectionism.”

Wow.  Her answers came pretty quick.  It was like she had been hoping I would ask.

“Okay, here goes.  You refuse to set up your voicemail.  Perfectionists check vmail the moment the light goes on.”

I put on my poker face.  An inordinate number of people complain about me not having vmail.  I decided to defer to her on that one.

“#2.  You fold your laundry when guests come over.  Everybody else does it before guests arrive or put it out of sight.”

Wow.  This is getting bad.  She’s not just separating me from perfectionists anymore.  Now, it’s “everybody”!  I gotta say something.

“Maybe that’s true, but we have no real way of checking; but go on.”

Do people still use the word lame?  My comeback was lame!  ugh

T doesn’t care.  She barely takes a breath, and keeps going.

“#3 You know how you invite people to dinner, then order pizza after they arrive or start pulling out random foods to cook? While endearing, that habit makes you the anti perfectionist.”

She had me on the ropes. Even I don’t think that’s normal. I conceded that maybe I wasn’t a perfectionist after all.  T graciously pointed out that I am a perfectionist of sorts.  A perfect imperfectionist.  I feel an embarrassing sense of pride.  I decided to take it.  Aren’t friends great?

+6

by