Some people are really good at presenting themselves. They have simple, waste free ways of toilet training their babies by one and a half hours of natural childbirth. They cook all their meals a day ahead in the crock pot using dandelion greens their goat chewed off the front lawn. They're thin and occasionally munch on whole grains while busying their hands on stitching organic undies for their loved ones. They know the difference between animal fibers and some other kind of fiber that I can't remember just now.
They run their own equestrian farms, manage fair trade corporations (oxymoron, right?), despise hair dyes, and never shop at Wal-Mart.
They're what I like to call Social Maximalists. They could write pamphlets on how Best To Present The Self.
Then there are the Minimalists.
Minimalists like to poke fun at their own lives. They tend to give you the lowest common denominator on anything they've set their hand to. If they've recently lost a hundred and four pounds, they'll tell you that it would have been hundred and ten if not for that box of digestives that spoke to them softly and gently one lonely afternoon.
If they own the cattle on a thousand hills, they'll tell you in great detail about the one named Bessie who they forgot to call in one night who died alone of thirst and old age.
Minimalists exist to question the authenticity of the maximalist.
Maximalists exist to provide a prototype for the minimalist to despair ever aspiring to.
For entertainment at your next social event, plan the seating so that all the maximalists are together. Listen to them out-shout one another in their quality of life proclamations.
Put the minimalists in another corner. They'll blissfully sip their G&T's because they're
all that important