About Me — Greg Proffit

With apologies to The Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, and The Grateful Dead

The Author in Savannah, GA. Photo by Beth Hughes

“Please allow me to introduce myself.
I’m a man of wealth and taste…
Pleased to meet you…
hope you guess my name.”

Oops, got carried away with a little Rolling Stones, Sympathy for the Devil action there.

These “about me” stories are tougher than they look at first glance. Here’s one thing about me. I hate the meticulously air-brushed, carefully crafted and curated crapola comprising 99% of social media “profiles”.

“Nooo, noo, no, that ain’t me, babe.
It ain’t me you’re looking for, babe.”

Oh, lookout—now Bob Dylan has snuck in.

Can you point me to where the quirky sit, please

Whenever someone says to me, “Tell us a little about yourself.” I feel awkward and usually say as little about myself as I can get away with.

It isn’t that I’m shy. There’s just nothing special to say. Nothing noteworthy. No grandeur. I’m an accident of unlucky Iowa teenagers who had reached breeding age.