This would fall into the category of "what they don't tell you for fear you might re-enact 'Carrie' during your middle school Tolo".

I recently had someone, applying for a job similar to my own, ask what I consider most important to doing the work that I do. I said flexibility = being willing to adjust and change, while still maintaining quality of work and an attitude that doesn't make people want to punch you in the mouth. You know what else really helps? Being an honest communicator. Because who doesn't love a well-placed "truth bomb", as my roommate would say. Tact is nice, though a tad overrated.

But flexibility, now that's paramount. Which is kind of funny, as growing up I wasn't what anyone would call easy going. Responsible, efficient and smashingly articulate, yes. But flexibility got lost in there somewhere. I was just that kid who needed to know exactly what I was doing and where I was going. My sense of self and security was directly related to my ability to see down the road. I don't always consider this to be a detriment to others, but it was to me, as it was my way of ensuring I felt safe. It's really not remotely difficult to see how I became a control freak, but I plead not-half-as-bad by saying you should meet my older brother who, as a toddler in daycare, was handed back to my mom with the strong suggestion that she get him evaluated. Turns out he'd colored outside the lines and thus, went postal. (And if you've never read up on that term, you really should.)

This is the same kid who had a complete meltdown whenever he heard the song Happy Birthday, which as you might imagine became a source of free entertainment to the rest of us, for the first ten years of his life. He hit his teen years thinking everyone gets five birthdays a year. Let's not go into what it takes to undo that crap. In retrospect, we're thinking it was probably just his innate brilliance surpassing his childhood capacity to handle it all. You talk to him now, and he's one of those people who walks that thin line between funny-ha-ha and funny which causes you to be all I'm-laughing-on-the-outside-but-inside-I'm-not-tracking-so-I'm-actually-kind-of-intimidated sort of way. Then you realize several minutes later that it's because he totally served you a backhanded compliment.

As I was saying. I find it fascinating that I've discovered flexibility to be so key, because it didn't come naturally to me. I used to plan my days out, including what I was eating for lunch. And sometimes, I worried that I'd forget overnight, that I'd write reminders for myself and tape them onto the ceiling so they'd be the first thing I saw when I woke up. I kind of want to meet the 13-year-old me so I can slap her a little. What in the world.

Remember the Chicken Dance? You know, the one they used to play at the roller rink and thus was born the most embarrassing moment of every 5th grader who was too uncoordinated to roller skate much less bawk like a chicken at the same time. Turns out that song has lyrics, which I didn't know until two days ago. It was a jaw-dropping moment, that altogether dramatic realization that a staple of my childhood wasn't what I thought. Pretty sure I would've remembered being told to wiggle my butt, that's the kind of thing you wave over your parents' heads as being someone else's idea. Dodging blame is learned at a young age.

My point is, as a kid I wouldn't have taken the news well. Talk about tightly wound.

We're glad I've grown out of that. I maintain that the more you learn grace with others, the more they have with you, and so goes the cycle. Which, all niceties aside, is good because the people I work for also take an ungodly amount of abuse. I say every department needs a snarky PA. Why do you think things get fixed so fast around here? I know the system and hell, people like me. So tell that to the professor who, when I walked by his open office and glanced inside, said WHAT WAS THAT LOOK? YOU JUST GAVE ME A LOOK! WHAT! WHAT! and I said no, I didn't give you a look, why would I do that, and for crying out loud stop acting like a woman.

So. With the untwisting of my shorts came the ability to put you in your place using cynicism and a sharp wit. I think it was a pretty good trade.

Other things I wish I'd have had the wherewithall to accept? The fact that no amount of butt-crack is ever enticing, tasteful, or cool. Some people think so. Mostly girls, but not even the feminine mystique can excuse or otherwise glorify that shit. This could also be filed under the category "The Visible Thong, and Other Fashion Fads We Hope Never Make a Comeback". Let's see...metabolism is a privilege, not a right. So is spandex. Ooo! Boys are really easy to figure out. Like, super easy. But they're also smarter than you think, and it's never a good idea to tell them you think they're "safe" just because you assume they know you don't like them back.

I know. Goin' to hell on a fast cart.