Heaven forbid I don’t have an opinion on something. Anything. Everything. Every.Little.Thing. Watching the Olympics? “Well, she didn’t stick that landing – that’s a tenth of a point!” Want my opinion on the Estonian Triplet runners? I can’t find Estonia on a map, but I’ll estimate their chances, critique their hair styles, and tell you what they should eat for dinner before the race, all before you can finish your question. We like to watch Ink Masters, so I’m also an expert on tattoos, despite having been in a tattoo parlor only once in my life, and that was to drag both of my much, much older sisters out of it (just last year, btw). America’s got talent? I’ll tell you who does and and who most definitely doesn’t.
As many who know me will attest, I’ll also be more than happy to let you know what I think you should or should not be doing, what supplements to take, and how each individual can be healthier/happier/more/less/beautiful/smarter. What essential oils to use. I can tell you what I think is the best cure your plantar’s fasciitis or posterior acne, if you’ll just ask me.
What I have never understood is why my opinions aren’t as…well, revered is the word I think I’m looking for. Held in higher esteem. Sought out. Often. I have so many opinions, and they are all so right. Not that yours are wrong, mind you, but mine are so much righter.
Alas, my kids merely give me that singular look of derision that only offspring can give, my husband laughs and wanders out to the garage, no sign of respect for my valued opinion even lingering in the air as he leaves the room.
I have an opinion about that, too.It hurts. Truly. To my core. Nothing a nap and a glass of wine won’t take care of, though. IMHO.
P.S. You can ask me about my opinion on the presidential candidates. But, believe me, you don’t want to.