Sometime in college, or maybe shortly thereafter, Charles and I were at a party and this girl introduced herself as “the other one.” I said “what does that mean, ‘the other one’?” She replied “well, you know like in Wilson Phillips, there’s the pretty one, the fat one, and the other one. I’m the other one.”
I thought that fabulously witty. Still do, obviously, if I remember it 20 years later. I also reflect that it took a fair amount of chutzpah to be that in-your-face at 19 or 20. I have no idea what she’s up to today, but I bet she’s good at it.
There’s a lot to be said for the other one. The other one is an unclassification, for one thing. How are you going to pigeonhole the other one? Anything the other one might do fits the narrative, because what is the narrative in the first place?
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I was always an “other one” too! Got a kick from this – thanks! Jen
Hugs, Jen! I’m not sure whether I was ever the other one.