This has been a very emotional time for me. The time I’m referring to is the seven decades in which I have lived or, rather, until my recent discovery, merely existed.
From the time I was born, I was uncomfortable with the society-imposed notion that I was sometimes wrong. I knew deep down that it was a lie. I knew deeeeep down that I was an infallible trapped in a fallible body. I knew deep down that I’m always right.
It hurt. It hurt to be told by infalli-phobes that I was not infallible. How dare they! Teachers, parents, friends, and aye, even – especially – lovers, told me I was not perfect. They hurt me. That makes them wrong. And evil.
I was … ohhhhh, it hurts to re-tell this … I was cut from the freshman baseball team when I was about 14. There I was – infallible at ball and all – and the shop teacher/coach – the shop teacher! – cut me. Thinkin’ I should sue his estate, but shop teachers tend to be judgment-proof. No matter. I’m totally over it now.
Now, finally, I’ve finally embraced my true identity: I’m always right.
That’s not to say I’m perfect in every way. I know I’ve lost hair, charm, bouquet, muscle, money, and manners. But in the right-wrong department, I’ve now discovered my identity: I’m infallible.
If you don’t accept and endorse my newly-found infallibility, I will sue you, cancel you, humiliate you. And you know who will win. Because, well, I’m always right.
My pronouns, by the way, are “Your Highness,” “Your Excellency,” “Sir,” “Prince,” and “Princess Diana” when I’m feeling a little out there.
Wait. Did I say “infallible”? I think I meant “infelicitous.” Maybe “infellatio.” Aw, crap, identity can be complicated.
Next up: “Reparations for the mis-identified.”
Nice article, your majesty.
Woman to a (woman) friend, regarding her husband:
“I married Mr. Right, but I didn’t know that his first name was ‘Always.'”
Here here, Barrister Beaton, your worshipfulness!
Likewise … and on a sort of similar wavelength, I frequently tell people that I am a Texan trapped in the body of a Californian.
As I am now retired … this proclamation of mine becomes all the more harder to fully convince others of as my feet feel a lot better wearing flip flops than boots.
C’est la vie …
(Also … not exactly a Texan manner of speaking.)
Your latest email was strange so I unsubscribed — but please re-subscribe me.
Keep me subscribed please
Are you any relation to Little Miss Can’t Be Wrong?
I too am infallible. though in a slightly different way. I was cut from the high school football team, not by the coach, but by myself; I cut them. I had braces on my teeth (ca.1964) and football helmets did not have face guards. I didn’t want to ruin what turned out to be a fine set of choppers by being hit in the face by a big, dumb lineman. Instead of wasting time playing for the honor and glory of the high school, I studied. I’m so glad that I passed Trigonometry and then Calculus; it comes in real handy during Calculus season.
I know that I’m wrong and you’re right, however, doesn’t saying that you “identify as infallable” imply that you are something other than infallible? Like fallable?
You can’t be right all of the time … because I am.
The Big Guy
“Howbeit when he, the spirit of Truth, is come, he will guide you into all truth: for he shall not speak of himself; whatever he shall hear, that shall he DECLARE: and he will show you things to come” The Most Holy Christ King Yeshua (The Gospel of St John 16:13
Of course now that Glenn has finally become a man, and put aside his childish ways, he no longer sees as through a glass, darkly, but beholds his own perfection, face to face.
We can see through this — you’re just trying to cash in on the reparations racket.
Of course, if it’s true that you’re actually a case of arrested development who has found Enlightenment at 70, then that gives us hope, that it’s never too late to start re-imagining ourselves.