GOODY TWO-SHOES . . .

I know all about Ms. Goody Two-Shoes. I used to be one. I grew out of it. But I can still spot one from several miles away.

She is prim and proper, almost a throw-back to ladies of the '50s who wore blouses with high collars and pearl-based jewelry. She smiles with her lips pressed together and laughs with her hand lightly covering her mouth. She is quiet in a crowd, not because she is shy or humble, but because she is either (a) storing up points for being demure, or (b) telling herself how glad she is not to be one of the garrulous, laughing, overly-forthright women surrounding her. She smiles and chatters prettily for the men in her social circle, charming them with the China-doll image she has created for herself. She reprimands people whom she thinks has done her wrong by beginning her rebukes with, "I really wish you had ..." She has no ability to get over herself and her exaggerated view of her own skills, talents, worth. In a church setting, she presents herself as holy, spiritual, prayerful, kind, deep. She butters up to the male leaders in the church. She doesn't cross her legs, and presses her eyes together just so when she prays. She contributes silently, then lashes out, out of the sight-line of watching eyes, when her contributions aren't acknowledged in the way she thinks they should be. She shares nothing of her own heart, but offers righteous-sounding platitude upon platitude to those who are fool enough to share their hearts with her.

Oh yeah. I know all about her. I'm not her anymore, thank God, but I know ALL. ABOUT. HER.