This has no title, but I like seeing the big white letters

The other day, I ate lunch with a friend of mine who told me I should meet another friend of hers. "You'll like him," she said. "Everyone who knows both of you says he's just like you."

This made me quite nervous. All of a sudden, I felt a lot of pressure. Ever since I've been conscious, I've been convinced that were I ever to meet myself, I'd hate myself. I'm truly astounded I have any friends as it is, but I suppose different people have different tolerances for these sorts of things.

Sometimes, when I'm feeling particularly bored and especially self-centered, I imagined what it would be like to have a conversation with myself. We'd probably get along well enough at first, marveling at our remarkably similar taste in music and movies. But after the "So, do you like music?" phase of any relationship ends, one finds oneself at a crossroads. The new friends either develop a casual, easy rapport, descend into awkward silences, or dislike each other.

I'm sure if we ever got past the awkward silences, I would find myself unbearably annoying. Jared Fogle would probably come up somehow. I'd mention how I find Subway's Jared hilarious with his big pants and all. The other me would roll his eyes at this obvious attempt to appear offbeat and quirky, knowing full well that only the dullest of people every try something like this.

Conversation would probably be stilted and awkward. I would tell a joke and the other me would force some fake laughter. I would notice and grow resentful. "Don't patronize me," I would think. "I haven't heard you say anything funny."

Trying to get out of the situation, I'd excuse myself for some transparently made-up reason. I would realize I was just trying to leave and quite justifiably take offense. The next day, both mes would ask our mutual friends what they could possibly see in that boring, self-absorbed, offensively unfunny jackass.

As bad as I am now, I shudder to remember what I was like as a child. I'd probably apologize to every adult I ever knew if I weren't so certain they'd force me to apologize for the way I am now as well. As a child, I was basically the way I am now, only louder, less funny, and with a complete and unshakeable confidence that everyone around me wanted to hear every thought I ever had.

As I've evolved as a person, I've always hated my past selves. By the time seventh grade rolled around, I was mortified that, for no particular reason at all, I used to stretch my socks up my legs instead of bunching them up at the bottom like a normal person (I have pictures which you cannot see). In tenth grade, I would have recognized my middle school self as possessing every trait I hate in every punkass little kid in my neighborhood. And my twelfth grade self would have found the whiny, mopey, moody tenth-grade Chris completely insufferable. As I grew older, the gap between the present and the most-recently-hated past self began to close, and I only realized that I had finally become a mature young adult when I learned to be embarrassed by myself as I lived.

To my great relief, I found my friend's altername quite personable. He was nice, he seemed intelligent, and we had a pleasant little conversation. "Thank God," I thought. He really isn't like me."