Wallflower

I always feel a little left out when people are talking about pop culture. I’ve never seen Glee. Lady GaGa is a rainbow-colored mystery to me. I feel that Twilight is an insult to literature. I don’t know who practically any actors or actresses are these days, I don’t even have a working TV (we have one that’s going on 21 years. We use it for movies on VHS), and the last article of clothing I got from a reasonably cool brand name was last summer at Goodwill (it’s an H&M coffee-colored shirt-dress with cream polka dots. It’s pretty cute and I plan on ruining it by sewing a big ruffle to the bottom edge).

However, if I want to discuss my kind of pop culture, no one knows what I’m talking about, unless they are

a) old,

b) weird like me, or

c) an English teacher.

Every once in a while, I’ll spout out something like,

“Well, good-bye Mrs. Burns, and remember, keep smiling.”

Friends: “??????”

Me: “Oh, never mind. It’s from a 1930’s radio show.”

Them: “………………. That’s nice, Sofia.”

[awkward pause]

Thus, I inevitably end up telling strange stories about my weekend adventures, which generally include knitting, getting lost, and conversations with the diverse population of weirdos to be met at bus stops.

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