Get a grip on that enthusiasm

This past weekend, my father and I stopped by a car dealership in an effort to alleviate my pain and suffering at not having had a car for the past…oh, thirty-six days. [Which pain, by the way, is finally over, as of three days ago. Good lookin' out, God.]

As we were getting out of our car, we were approached by two salesmen. [I was about to use the word accosted, but that's not quite correct, since we were there of our own volition and all. Also, I need to stop this newfound fascination with brackets in my weblog posts.]

Polite introductions and handshakes all around. “Whoa, you’ve got quite a G.I. Joe grip there!” exclaimed Salesman #1, laughing.

I smiled and shrugged lightly, while the daddy-o, amused, explained, “Yes, she’s practicing for job interviews and entering the real world.” I tried not to roll my eyes. I’ve always had a strong handshake, whether I’m meeting social acquaintances or prospective employers. Veeeerrry funny, daddy-o.

[As an aside, I have yet to meet a woman who gives a decent handshake. Every woman I have shaken hands with just sort of leaves her hand there, limp in mine. I constantly fume to Somayya, "What's this 'limp fish syndrome' going on? I want to shake her freakin' hand, not hold it!"]

The salesmen mouthed some pleasantries about how nice it was that we had stopped by. My father, in characteristically blunt fashion, mentioned that he hates visiting dealerships when buying a car, because it becomes such a convoluted, painful procedure. The salesmen nodded understandingly. “It’s kinda like dealing with lawyers,” cracked Salesman #2, then assured us, “but we’re a step above lawyers. Maybe a very small step, but still a step up!” He peered at us through an exaggeratedly small crack between his thumb and forefinger. I thought he was getting annoying already.

My dad perked up, waving a hand in my direction. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’ve been saying she should think about doing.”

“Become a car salesman?” said Salesman #2 blankly. I started laughing, all the while thinking, I really don’t want to buy a car from you. Perhaps the look on my face said it all. My father frowned at me and explained, “No, a lawyer.” Needless to say, I didn’t come home with a car that afternoon.

Law school is my father’s new favorite bullet point on the list of things I should consider doing with my life (along with, oh, maybe being less sarcastic and abrasive and perhaps also offering to pull the weeds in the front yard once in a while. Not gonna happen). I should also mention that, during the past year, I’ve read enough law student weblogs – and weblogs of law school graduates stuDYING for the Bar Exam – and made new law student friends and tried to (most unsuccessfully, probably) cheer up 2Scoops during his Bar Exam madness to realize that I just don’t have the level of dedication and commitment required for law school. So there. The end.

“Law,” intoned my father recently, “is a lot more interesting, practical, and challenging than even psychology. Non-profits, they always need lawyers. Plus, all your experience in writing and public speaking would go very well with a law degree.”

While he makes some good points, my rejoinders so far have all been along the lines of, “But, Daddy! Law school requires writing papers. Remember, we agreed that this having-to-write-papers drama was seriously out of control when I was an undergrad. I don’t want to have to write papers ever again.”

“Yes, but there’s writing papers, and then there’s writing papers. Law school papers are fun!”

Sure they are.”

Since that line of defense has failed, I have, of course, resorted to addressing the daddy-o’s hints in the most childish way possible. For example, when he offhandedly mentioned last week that our neighbors’ son, who recently completed his undergraduate degree, would soon be taking the LSAT in preparation for law school, I replied, “How gross. That’s disgusting! Why would anyone want to do that?”

I mean, really.

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