Difficult

I have been told many times in my life that I am difficult. Difficult to understand, difficult to like, difficult in business, difficult in social situations. Pretty much an all-around pain in the ass. To my credit, I recognize my own difficulty and I often try to force my ornery personality to pipe down. The thing is, I may be difficult, but I am also nice. Does that make sense? Let me elaborate. I am

like a cactus with spines on the outside, but cool water on the inside
a prickly pear with soft inner fruit
angry but affectionate
an overgrown lobster that sometimes gets stuck in my own claws, but I'd sacrifice my best pincer for my fellow crustaceans

You get where I'm going with this.

I hate being difficult. It's one of my tragic flaws. I always wanted to be likeable and cheerful, the kind of person to whom everyone wants to talk. Instead I was always that harmless looking, but rather, as I've been called, aloof or reserved or shy or quiet girl observing. But I'm not really any of those things. I'm cautious. I have been burned so many times in life that I have difficulty trusting. There's that difficult again.

I'm trying, though. When I meet new people, I try really hard to crack my own armor. I'm actually funny and easy-going once you get to know me. (I know, you're just rolling on the floor as we speak). Half the time what's funny is how I make a complete ass of myself by leaning on a tower of boxes and knocking them over or some other klutzy move. Sometimes I snort when I laugh but, on the scale of my stupid human tricks, I don't even get embarrassed by that one anymore.

Today, as I battled with my daughter's nursery school teacher for the second week in a row, I realized that I can't shake the difficult. But sometimes, it's better to be difficult than to let your kid get steamrolled by an overbearing matron in slanty glasses.

I guess I should apologize in advance to my daughter that Mommy is never going to be voted Mrs. Congeniality by the PTA. Hopefully one day she'll be thankful.