I am. Really. On the inside. My maiden name is "Bonneau". This is my family crest which I've abandoned for the Tate family due to my marriage. I think that's a chilly, dry champagne fountain in there. Basically, I'm a hot genetic mess. Barack Obama got me thinking a few months ago about how we mutts self-identify. My dad brought the French (via Quebec/Canada) and God knows what else. My mom brought the eastern european Holy Roman Empire-ish (Czech-Bohemian, Austrian, etc.) I am acutely aware that my visual package is something akin to a movie depiction of a WWII gulag matron (a kindly one that sneaks the prisoners food). But on the inside I think I'm this petite, stylish Parisian Chanel devote'. Self-identification / Self-delusion, what's the difference? How our genes combine to make us is fascinating to me. Not the scientific part--I could barely pass high-school chemistry--but the mixup/mashup and the outcome is such a cool thing. My sister and I often compare "what we got". She got my mom's beautiful skin, I got my Dad's rosacea and acne. She got my mom's "veins", I didn't. I got the cellulite, she didn't. She got Dad's temper, I didn't. In the end, it nets out neutral unless you put too much value on any one thing which I could certainly be tempted to do on the cellulite issue. French women DETEST cellulite, you know. A la fin, nous prenons que l'on nous donne et nous en faisons le meilleur. C'est la vie!
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