It's A Small World

I have developed some bizarre anti-social quirks since moving to this one horse town.
Yesterday, I blatantly ignored the friendly surfer mom who locked eyes with me in the check out line at the supermarket. We actually made direct eye contact, smiled, and then I turned my back on her. It was a subliminal message, "You look like a nice person who I've crossed paths with on countless occasions at the beach, in the library, on the street and I should have introduced myself years ago. It's nothing personal, I just don't really want to meet you and your darling children because it negates my whole purpose in moving to this town."
When we moved here I flaunted, I reveled and rolled around in our anonymity. The mystery of a new ride through life in an unfamiliar town was thrilling. Two years later, the thrill is gone and my ride keeps taking familiar turns through ever more anticipated tunnels. And still, I find myself performing ridiculous antisocial rituals in public. I'm developing my social character around town so people can point and whisper behind my back, "Psst, that's the self absorbed mom who thinks she's invisible."
My greatest fear is walking into a public space and knowing every person. Is that totally weird? I would prefer to live the reality of being naked in a public place than be fully clothed in a town full of acquaintances.
Take for example the library. I recognize half the families there and I make a point to ignore them. (Did I say that out loud?) There's the athletic woman and her two surfer boys who drives the mini cooper down my street three times a day(no doubt a neighbor). There's the lioness of a Grandma who brings her wild girlcub to the last half of story hour. There's the tall drink of a blond in holy soled boots with her intensely shy son. There's the hippie mom with the great haircut. The list goes on and on. So maybe I do know everyone in town, by description, not name. And so I am defying the inevitable 6 degree rule of separation. I am the flawed link. World association ends here. I refuse to introduce myself in a last ditch attempt to remain anonymous. My hermit gene prevails.

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