She was perfect...

I met her today.

The other me.

She was so polite. How do you do? So nice to meet you.

She sat up straight and still. No slouching. No fidgeting.

She listened politely. Never interrupting with questions.

Her hands were beautiful. Teeth have never met those nails.

Her shoes were stunning. Not a single scuff mark.

Her outfit was perfect. Everything matched. No tears or stains.

So poised. So lovely. So calm. So perfect.

I memorized everything about her.

How do you do? How do YOU do? How DO you do? HOW do you do? How do you DO?

How did she do that? So calm.

I sat up straight and still. For a minute. But then my foot began tapping to the music I heard.

I tried not to interrupt, but I had so much to ask. HOW do YOU do?

I folded my hands in my lap. Is that paint? How did I get paint on my hand? When did that happen?

How do you DO?

Is that sauce on my skirt? Or more paint? I think it was paint. No sauce. No paint. No wait...juice!

How DO you do?

I looked at her again. She smiled. The other me. The one everyone said I should try to be.

HOW do you DO?

She was perfect.

But she wasn't me.