This is my choice.

I wrote that--"This is my choice"--all over the (paper) tablecloth at Macaroni Grill tonight. (I have a feeling that I spelled that wrong, but it's too late for fact checking.) I was exorcising an old demon. I dated a guy who in reality was pretty cool. I think I tend to describe him in less-than-flattering terms in order to make myself feel better about being dumped by the manipulative slob. And there I go again. Anyway, said male had an agenda while we were dating that basically consisted of a series of hoops I had to jump through--movie etiquette, music preference, etc. One was going to MG and drawing on the tablecloth (again, paper) with the provided crayons.
As (I think) mentioned in past blogs, I don't like being told what to do. I fully intended to draw on the tablecloth, but first busied myself with the menu. I was debating between a few dishes when Mr. Less-Than-Wonderful suggested that I draw with the crayon he was handing me. I told him in a minute. He "suggested" again. After a few minutes of this, I outright refused to draw. When we later broke up he specifically cited this moment of our relatively (for Provo) brief relationship as one of his red flags. I wasn't crazy enough or in touch with my inner 5 year old enough to draw on the stupid table.
Maybe I'm being vindictive in writing this, but to be quite honest, I've wondered about that. What did my rather childish refusal to draw on the table indicate? I am protective of my independence. I'm protective of my opinions, my thoughts, my expressions of personality (in my head these are different things). I've become a lot more considerate of people over the years, but at the same time I've become more considerate of myself. I'm not being selfish. I'm being me. Which is all I really can do. So tonight I drew on the table. And it was my choice.