I was Jenny once. Seriously. It all happened so fast that some of the details are a blur but I was definitely Jenny for at least a good ten minutes -- and you don't forget how something like that feels.
One way a Not Jenny like me can become a Jenny is by association with an actual Jenny. For example, last week I was briefly adopted by a bona fide Jenny while we were on our way to work. I was walking through the park with my iPod secretly blaring some completely Not Jenny music when my path intersected with the path of a total Jenny who was also walking with an iPod. (Let's not kid ourselves, they all have iPods.)
Jenny looked at me and my iPod and she smiled at us. I flashed back my best pleasedon'tnoticethatiamnotJennyjustthisonceplease counter-smile and she bought it completely. The next think I knew the earbuds were out and she was chatting me up. She was completely chatting up totally Not Jenny me. A Not Jenny who had, not five seconds earlier, been privately rocking out to music so Not Jenny that even mentioning the artist in the presence of a Jenny would make her pooh talcum powder in disgust. But my secret remained undiscovered and for that brief moment, I was Jenny too.
Everyone was jealous.
I tried to think of Jenny things to say and commented that the iPod was great because it made it socially acceptable to ignore people. "You just say you didn't hear them," I said, and laughed like a Jenny I once new. She laughed too and said, "You must be dead inside like Jenny and I!" The banter continued until a block later when our paths diverged and I was Not Jenny again. We waved goodbye, popped the earbuds back in and got back to ignoring people like me.
God, I love my iPod.
