Mimicking

Remember, as a kid, how funny it was to mimic someone? You knew it frustrated others, especially adults, but you got such a belly laugh out of it. Then, when it was done to you, the frustration grew so quickly, you screamed, cried, maybe even lashed out and hit. It was one of those things so many of us did and had done to us that dissolved early on in our childhood. By our teens, there was nothing worse than being seen as someone who emulated another, at least obviously. As we get older, to vocally mimic someone would be seen as weird. To copy mannerisms, phrases, and actions would be absurd. While I've written about not being petty, ever, I found myself in a situation the other day, where another's grunts, groans, and weight-of-world antics so infuriating, that I wondered where someone could learn to project such hardship doing mundane tasks. Weightlifting grunts coming from cleaning dishes. Moving furniture moans from placing a spoon in a drawer. Drawn out sighs, as if the realization that life was so unfair came from the simple cleaning up of one's own garbage. I snickered. Later that evening, I chose not to say "Hello." I tended to my needs. A free kitchen, a rarity, welcomed me. They looked through a bookshelf, seeming to have lost or misplaced a needed or important item. I began to slice onions, a tomato, and toast some bread. I began to moan, grunt, and sigh with every move. The exaggerated effects of the most insignificant motions. I sighed as I came towards completion. I then heard a snicker. Then a mumble. I smiled, downward, not wanting to let on. Imagine, just for a second, being so immersed in one's self, you didn't even know the person was mimicking you?

Childish? Yes! Petty? Absolutely. Completely rewarding? Guilty as charged.