It says something about my year when my favorite compliment came from dream girl Emma: "I don't think you're a sociopath, John..."
There was no more to that thought.
My least favorite kind of compliment came from a friend's husband on July 4. Surveying my house, he said "I'm surprised, John. It's nicely decorated. And lots of flowers outside...it's not at all what I would have expected from you."
As if a foul-mouthed, cigar-smoking, football-loving, skanky-bar-dwelling non-sociopath isn't also capable of a modicum of taste? I ask you: is this really so outlandish?
