
In Hamlet, Polonius tells his son Leartes, "To thy own self be true." Sounds like great advice. The problem is Shakespeare is too much of a genius to make anything easy. Polonius is a long-winded, pompous parental figure at best, a deceptive, self-serving lackey at worst. So taking his advice at face value is about as wise as believing Lady Veronica on the Psychic Network. But even psychics and fools stumble upon wisdom and truth on occasion. So where does that leave Leartes? Well, running off to France, actually. For those of us women with smaller trust funds and less tolerance for underarm hair, we're left contemplating shades of meaning.

I'm a jeans and t-shirt kind of gal, but I wouldn't show up in such an outfit for an interview or a first date. I also wouldn't share that I sometimes swear like a trucker and enjoy children's cereal, multi-colored marshmallows and all. And I'd probably outright lie in an interview if asked what the last book I read was-no school wants to advertise its middle school English teacher likes racy fantasy romance novels. There are rules of etiquette and certain expectations that we're just expected to meet in life. And we do, with no real worries about whether we're selling ourselves out, even if they require a few white lies or omissions of truth. Employers, dates, and new acquaintances not only tolerate these half-truths, they expect them. So we play the game, even though I'm quite certain any observant potential employer or partner only needs to see me teeter a few feet in a pair of pumps to know my preferred footwear is neither heeled nor pointy. And one look at my bookshelves is all that would be required to deduce I like my fictional men tall, buff, and fanged.













