I think I have a Problem: An autobiography

When my brother was a toddler and I was even younger, my mother decided to take a parenting class.  She, a special education teacher for ten years, who knew more about behavior management than most and successfully taught students of all kinds took a parenting class.

My brother and I are assholes, obviously, but that’s beside the point.

Still, my mom credits this class to helping her parent well.  Intrigued, she devoured books and articles to soak in even more information.  But she left one thing out.  There was one, little piece of advice that my mom never took, for her own sanity’s sake.

She refused to stop using sarcasm around her kids.

And that is where her role in the story ends, and mine begins.  As much as it pains me to write this, I have something to admit.  Something you’d never guess.

I am sarcastic.

Just like, a little, tiny bit.

But that’s not all.  I, apparently, do not have a ‘sarcastic voice’.  In other words, I sound dead serious when I’m delivering the ironic.

I typically encounter two kinds of people in this regard.  The first group understands my sarcasm.  They laugh, they fire back, and they speak my language.  It’s beautiful.  It’s like the ocean at sunset.

Then there’s the second camp.  These are the people that don’t get my sarcasm.  Like, at all.  They either think I’m incredibly strange, incredibly mean, or both.

This gets me into a lot of interesting social situations.  When I’m talking to someone and I’m trying to be friendly, I usually stumble into something that has a dual-meaning.

And most people don’t get it.  I start giving them hell (lightheartedly, of course) and they start getting defensive.  Then I’m backing up, waving my hands in the air and saying, “I’m totally just kidding. It’s a joke.  Look, I was being sarcastic.”

 

And do I learn my lesson and refrain from using sarcasm around them?

Nope.  I just do it all over again, less than five minutes later.  It’s interesting; a lot of people tell me I’m funny.  On the other hand, a lot of people don’t get my humor.  My childhood best friend was worried sick when I first went away to college.  “Anna,” she said to me, over the phone, “what if your roommate doesn’t get your sense of humor?”

Honestly, I hadn’t thought about it until then.  (She didn’t get it, either.  Now we’re friends and she’s completely used to it.  Sort of.)

Like I always do with my problems, I looked to Internet for company.  Instead, my search results were chock full of articles about how awful sarcasm is.  It’s mean and vindictive and passive aggressive, and I am an awful person for using it.

Oh yeah, and apparently I should try to stop.  (I’m so working on that.  Totally.  Seriously, though.  It’s at the top of my to-do list, right after quitting coffee and spending less money in bookstores.)

But the more I think about it, though, I find that it’s not my fault.  The world is full of irony, Dear Reader. And I’m just the messenger, just the girl to point it out.

 

And what do I get for it?

I get nicknamed Sarcastic Bitch.  I guess it could be worse.

Are you sarcastic?  Do you have a sarcastic voice?  If so, comment and tell me all about it down below.  And if you love this article with all of your heart, you should like it and tell your friends.  Don’t forget to click the follow button.   Cheers or whatever.