Flashback Friday: The Society of Sharon

(Note: Although my grandmother's name is Sharon, that is simply coincidence.  A very lucky coincidence.  I wish my real name was Sharon.)

My friends and I...we're kind of weird.  But it's a good, funny weird.  Not a scary, what-on-earth-is-that-person-even-thinking weird.  ...I hope.  Last night I was conversing with my friend Rashelle over facebook about the "good old days" (aka, high school).  Rashelle and I were quite the dynamic duo.  My mother will tell you that means we were always up to no good.  (But our shenanigans nearly always made her laugh.)  I'm not really sure why or when exactly, but one day we started referring to each other as Sharon. It started out as just a joke.  But "Sharon" somehow grew bigger than expected.  Everywhere we went, other people began using it.  One summer at girls camp we got everyone to speak with a British accent and refer to each as Sharon.  People liked it; it somehow made them feel as if they were part of a club.  And in a way, they kind of were.  Sharon had outgrown our childish jokes and become a title of respect and friendship.  We would say whenever anyone acted in a way we rather they didn't, it was because they weren't a Sharon.  We referred to our mothers as "Momma Sharon."  Upon seeing one another, our greeting was always a joyful shout of, "SHARON!  HOW LOVELY TO SEE YOU!!"
When I left for college, Sharon-speak had kind of become a habit.  And it caught on with my roommates, because fortunately, they were fellow Sharons.  I know I had nothing to do with it, they were already swimming in the essence of Sharon.  Sharons aren't made you know, they're born.  You're probably wondering right now if you are grand enough to gain entrance into our wonderful sisterhood.  Well I'll give you some pointers.
You might be a Sharon if:

You love to take awkward candid pictures of people.

You always look sassy for the Mormon Dance. (Ignore the sexy ankles thing.  That's a whole other story.)

You love to make massive amounts of cookies at least weekly.

You're a tourist in your own town.

Fast food is more fun late at night than during the daytime.

You sneak into the kitchen at Girls Camp to eat...Bacon bits.  Or Brownies.  Or whatever you can find.

You can sleep anywhere.

You wield a large spoon.

You look smokin' hawt all the time.  Or at least most of the time.

You can find other Sharons no matter where you live.

Sharons!

You often find yourself with this expression on your face.

Things like this happen at random.

You hold articles of clothing hostage.

When asked to construct a wedding dress out of toilet paper, you come up with the middle look.

You appreciate good lookin' men.

And they appreciate you, even when you look like this.

You are as gangsta as they come.

This post is dedicated to all my fellow Sharons.  This post probably didn't make any sense to anyone except for you.