The best kind of personal defects are the ones that other people notice but you can’t. It’s bad enough to have a defect in the first place; there’s no point in having to think about it all the time. It’s bad for your self-esteem.
For example, I envy the people who don’t know that other people hate spending time with them. I see these defective people all the time, endlessly jabbering at trapped victims. The defective people think they are having a great personal encounter. The victim feels like he has an SUV parked on his chest. Rubberneckers can identify this sort of tragedy by the fact that one person is smiling and doing all of the talking and the other person is squeezing his own thigh to cut off blood to his brain.
I’m the opposite. I assume other people want me to go away as soon as I show up. It’s probably not always true, but I like to play it safe. A little bit of me goes a long way. That’s why I try to leave before I use up my welcome. It’s a tight window.
Carl: “Hi, Scott.”
Me: “Gotta go.”
My other personal defect is a complete lack of fashion sense. As defects go, this is one of the best. I don’t perceive other people as being poorly dressed, and therefore they do not offend my senses. Best of all, I can’t tell when I’m poorly dressed myself. I rely on my wife to do the heavy lifting, fashion-wise. But even that goes wrong sometimes, as it did yesterday. True conversation:
Me: “I love this shirt. You bought this for me, right?”
Shelly: “It’s a pajama top.”
Me: “What?”
Shelly: “You’re wearing a pajama top. And we’re heading to the airport.”
Me: “Gosh. It seemed so soft. I guess that’s why.”
Shelly: “I’m with a man wearing a pajama top.”
Me: “Maybe it will start a trend.”
Shelly: “Maybe not.”
I happily wore my pajama top all day. Knowing that I was a fashion accident did not deter my happiness. My pajama top was soft and comfortable and the color was pleasing to the eye. I like me just the way I am.