The Perfects

We all know them. Growing up they won the spelling bees and all of the track and field events. Including the long jump that you practiced for a whole year jumping the drainage ditch across from the Dairy Queen. The Perfects’ moms brought cupcakes to school on their birthday and invited the entire class to a skating party where they gave out gift bags filled with Jolly Ranchers and Silly Putty and fun size Three Musketeers. Perfects got two gold stars for their book reports. They always took home blue ribbons for their science projects and always got chosen to dust the erasers!

(If you don’t know what dusting the erasers is, ask your parents.)

Perfects received brand new cars when they turned sixteen and scholarships to the top party schools most prestigious institutions of higher learning. Yeah, hours in the library, the gym or waiting tables after school couldn’t get you what they had – the brains, the bod, the bucks. The Perfect life.

Now we’re adults. Perfects have successful careers, destination weddings, thousands of Facebook friends and drive big ass SUVs. They’re different people with different names, but in your mind they are still The Perfects. You’re not jealous. No, there’s not an ounce of envy for what they have or where they go. “Poor little rich girl,” you say as you pull the trash can out to the curb and watch Perfect’s daughter whiz by in Daddy Perfect’s Beamer. You feel sorry for them. Momma Perfect’s on another “medical spa” trip. You know this because you use the same pet groomer as the Perfects and the receptionist gave you the 411. Little Ruffles came in again smelling of Chanel and bourbon. Sad.

Perfects at work don’t even cause the green meanies. You’ve come to grips with the fact that they kiss ass way better than you ever could. So what, they have off site “one on ones” with the department head. You don’t care, the company pays for your data plan so you can be available to the boss 24/7 via text AND email. The mortgage and the therapist get paid on time. It’s all good.

No, it’s the imaginary Perfects that really send you into the pits of hell. The cyber ones, you know, the people we think have a perfect life because we see what they want us to see. They LOL at inside jokes with other Perfects. What the hell? You followed them first! Their 140 characters are always #soooo.ff, their YouTube videos go viral, their blogs get re-blogged and they get virtual rewards for their shit all the time. Perfects!

You start to curse them, and not just under your breath. You stop, drop and roll everywhere you go – timelines, blogs, chat rooms – soon you’re known as the F Tweeter. You didn’t want that title, but once you let loose, it stuck.

***The Fine Print***The Perfects aren’t perfect. Everybody, EVERYBODY has shit in their lives. Funny, cool, sassy, passionate, creative people are also vulnerable, flawed, generous, ordinary people looking for a way to connect, to share something of themselves that can be accepted, supported or recognized by someone else as good, or at least good enough.

Check out an entertaining and honest look at Fame and Glory and Freshly DePressed. We’re laughing together, and there is nothing more perfect than that!

This entry was posted in Observations and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

27 Responses to The Perfects

  1. Pingback: I Was Born Naked Just Like You | HonieBriggs

  2. Hala J. says:

    Another spot-on post. I remember wondering how the Perfects did it. But you know what? It’s awesome not being perfect. It’s much less pressure to conform to people’s expectations of you. I think it’s a huge reason as to why I’m so laidback most of the time, even when I’m the most stressed. (If that makes any sense).

  3. yesterdaywasdramatictodayisokay says:

    Such a good post! I used to feel like I was living in the shadows of these ‘Perfects’ growing up, but now I feel like these flaws I have are what make me what I am :)

  4. “Perfect”ly good post you’ve got happening here, Honie. I’d break out into applause but I’m busy dusting the erasers right now and wouldn’t want to choke on the chalk fumes.

  5. Tech Tard says:

    Love it!

  6. jmgoyder says:

    Very glad not to be a ‘Perfect’!

  7. Deb Mukherjee says:

    Yeah, everyone knows (*hates*) the perfects. I’d say the single most annoying thing they do? Make everything look so freaking effortless while you work your ass off just to come in second (if you’re (I’m) lucky)
    You’re not jealous of the perfects? Because, me, every time I see one of them in the halls, I just want to….punch something. Yeah, that’s it. Punch things.
    Perfects are all about perception though. Maybe I could be a perfect to someone and not realize it. Have you ever asked a perfect if they though of themselves that way?

    • Honie Briggs says:

      Deb, the perfects are so sick of having to be perfect, they are jealous of me. They are lucky I am so imperfect that I make them look even better than they pretend to be. Yeah, you are probably right, you very well could be a perfect to someone and not even realize it. Someone who does laundry and blogs. Someone whose looking at the back side of 44, who tricked herself into thinking she’s a size two by shopping at the store for women who fall for psychological manipulation about the size of their ass.(Chico’s) OR some guy who sits behind you in class that everyone thinks is a geek, but who will one day mature into his awkward features and possess sexiness and genius that will make you glad you became his friend in high school. Just sayin’….Plus hate causes wrinkles. :)

  8. iRuniBreathe says:

    Honie,
    Thanks for linking to my Freshly Depressed. I feel fame now!
    I was never A Perfect, and I guess that turned out alright.

  9. Well said, Honie!! When it comes right down to it, in the whole scheme of things, aren’t we all “average”? Oh geeez, did I just say the “A” word? My theory is… if you are happy and solid about who you are do you really need to put on the “Perfect” costume? There’s no doubt we all go through the “Perfect-Envy”, but it’s nice to know we can wake up from that nightmare, and realize it’s just a show with a pretty costume collection ~

  10. Peaches says:

    I can think of a few like this. They used to drive me nuts when I was younger and I still find myself comparing sometimes. I need to work on that…but I’ve got a little self-love now too. (Not the naughty kind…well..yes the naughty kind but that’s not what I meant originally! ;) )

  11. Jonathan says:

    This post was brilliant, and I suddenly don’t have a problem with the huge chip on my shoulder about the “perfects” :)

  12. artsifrtsy says:

    Dusting the erasers – I always wanted that gig and of course it always went to Rose Ann Monihan – so perfect that even her name rhymed.

    • Honie Briggs says:

      I wanted that gig too. Bad! Washing the blackboard, dusting the erasers, line leader. Damn that perfect Rose Ann Monihan with her rhyming name and all that fame. I bet now she ain’t got no game!

      • Honie Briggs says:

        Do you still know her? Is she the same?

      • artsifrtsy says:

        Line leader – I wanted that one too! Or the flag holder for the pledge, something in the spotlight.

        Sadly Rose Ann and was the first in our class to get knocked up – I think it was 7th grade. She’s probably a great-great grandma by now.

        • Honie Briggs says:

          Oh shit! okay now I cannot stop laughing, tears are rolling down my….wait..Oh shit!
          Great-Great Nana Rose Ann, waiting on her man, doing the best she can, I’m her biggest fan. Sick, I am just sick. I don’t want to be perfect, this is way more fun. Thanks to the perfect Rose Ann Monihan, the bitch with the rhyming name! How Lame! My poetry sucks, but what a laugh riot!

          • artsifrtsy says:

            This is so epic – my childhood is redeemed! Your literary gifts have saved the day!

            Seriously – it was freaky to be 12 and see your classmate in that condition – she also smoked like a chimney – All that perfection, down the drain.

Go Ahead, Make My Day!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s