A few years ago, I heard about a dairy cow-related experiment on NPR. It seems that, just as the California Dairy Board claims in its commercials, scientists theorized that happy cows produce more milk.

To test this theory, they decided to make a cow sad to see how it affected her milk production. Being rejected by the herd and treated as an outcast saddens cows, so they tried to make her unlovable.

They covered her in a sack. They shaved her. They dyed her purple. None of those things mattered to the other cows; they welcomed her back to the herd -- perhaps even giving her extra attention, in sympathy.

Then, they masked her natural cow-y fragrance. They doused her in licorice scent, and achieved their goal. Nobody recognized her or wanted to have anything to do with her. And yes, she started producing less milk. I'm feeling like I might smell like licorice or something. I'm tired of feeling bad when someone says, "Are you going to Lisa's on Friday to play bunco?" and I have to answer, "I didn't get that email."

Now, I'm not saying that I'm some sort of outcast. Some of the moms in my neighborhood love me. But others avoid me. Or ignore me. I understand why; when someone says "I'm going to my high school reunion," for example, some women say things like "How fun!" or "What are you going to wear?"

I say things like, "How do you feel about that? Did you enjoy high school, or was it an awkward time for you? Is there anyone in particular you are curious about? Is your husband looking forward to going?" In other words, other people make small-talk; I turn into some sort of Diane Sawyer-psychotherapist combo. And some people love that. Other people are put off. It doesn't bother me, because I can appreciate both points of view. But I'm not a small-talk person and I don't accept things at face-value. Like anything else in life, there are pros and cons.

My problem is, I need to find my herd. I'm feeling the need to find some social group that loves me, and the neighborhood/PTA isn't the right fit, overall. I was feeling down and depressed until I realized, it's not me; it's not them. It's me and them together.

I wonder if I should join the book discussion group at the library? Or, there's this. Or, I could hold on for a couple of months; Mrs. Kathy is moving to the town next door!

I need to figure this out for the sake of the ÜberGirls. They caught my weirdness, and while I've accepted that Elder is navigating the cruelties of the schoolyard, yesterday I witnessed younger being taunted and chased by the two developing queen bees in her class when she wanted to pretend to be riding horses. Or that she WAS a horse.

"We don't even HAVE horses! You're CRAZY!"

However, the little girl down the street and her best friend, the boy who doesn't play with the other boys and is what you might call "sensitive," said, "You can play horses with us! We LOVE horses!"

"Mine's named Marshmallow!" said the boy.

So there you go.