I’d invite Raggedy Ann over for coffee if I could. She would get me. I think we’d be pals.

It all started in childhood, as most things do. I did the usual things little girls did back in the 1970s. I rode my yellow Schwinn down Chestnut Street with the wind in my hair and the ace of hearts in my spokes. I dressed our cat in doll clothes until she hissed and scratched. I watched “Fat Albert” and “Hong Kong Phooey” cartoons. I played Barbies with the girl who lived on the corner. You know, the normal stuff.

But I also did other things. Things I’ve never heard other people reminisce about. Sometimes I’d lay face down in the grass and find a nice long blade to stick up my nose to make me sneeze. I’d chop earthworms into small segments on the tree stump in front of our house, believing the pieces would regenerate into multiple worms. I’d find my mom’s old 45 records and play them over and over again, memorizing strange lyrics like “I bought myself an idol with a golden head” and “Bodiddle-diddy-bop I got a job.”

Sounds like a serial killer in the making, but really, I was just quirky.

As an adult, my eccentricities continued to surface whether I liked it or not. I wanted to keep up with current trends, but somehow, they eluded me and I gravitated toward my own unique preferences.

There’s nothing in my house from Pottery Barn or Williams Sonoma. Don’t get me wrong, their stuff is fabulous, but those places don’t stock the interesting things I’ve found at church rummage sales, on eBay or washed up on the beach.

It never bothered me, until we’d have people over to our house, and then my differences seemed glaring. Our guests sometimes made comments that I chose to interpret as compliments, such as, “What an interesting wine glass,” “Well, isn’t this cozy,” or “My grandmother had one just like that.” I’d tell them all about the dumpster or the garage sale, and sometimes they’d furrow their brows.

As a military spouse, I attended many socials and events with my Navy husband, which required me to show up appropriately dressed and engage in conversation with people I didn’t know very well.

It was hard enough to find an acceptable outfit to wear from my trend-blind collection of old and new-to-me clothes from my eclectic closet. Then, I had to engage in the torture of mingling and chit chatting. In an effort to transform vapid small talk into something deeper and more interesting, I might pop prying questions like, “So, how’s your relationship with your mother?”

One military spouse I knew during our tour in Norfolk, Va., described me as being “intense.” This was certainly a criticism, but considering that I prefer substantive friendships, I was flattered.

Over the years, I’ve learned that most mothers and wives don’t have strong opinions about “The Godfather” movies, own 30 vintage ceramic Christmas trees or read high school Physics textbooks for fun. Most don’t have a secret wish to be a lounge singer, or insist on elaborately sorting M&Ms before eating them.

No one understands why I’m like this, and frankly neither do I. I’ve sometimes wished that I could be more like everyone else. Being in tune with what is popular makes it easier to fit in. A new military spouse on base will likely be successful making friends if she invites her neighbor to check out a trendy new bistro. But if she excitedly suggests, “Hey, you wanna go dumpster diving then binge watch documentaries?” she’ll probably get nothing more than an awkward silence.

Regardless, we are who we are. People can’t change what makes them happy. Every person is unique in some way, some more than others. When I forget to appreciate my distinctively authentic personality, I think of Raggedy Ann.

She’d like my house. We’d put on my old aprons, spread crunchy peanut butter on saltines, sing along to Ethel Merman and watch Hitchcock movies. Maybe we’d give Holly Hobbie a ring and make it a real party.

Read more at themeatandpotatoesoflife.com and in Lisa’s book, “The Meat and Potatoes of Life: My True Lit Com.” Email: meatandpotatoesoflife@gmail.com