Is that my voice? Is that MY voice?

Over the years, I've often ridiculed people for mistaking me for, in no particular order:

--a raucous partygirl
(most notably by one of the regular customers who always came into a bakery I used to work at; this stemmed from the time he asked me how my weekend was and I told him I couldn't remember; for some reason this made him assume I had spent the weekend in a drug and alcohol-fueled stupor instead of lazing around reading books, which is probably what I actually did).



--a beautiful angel of light who will save one lucky guy from his morbid abyss of loneliness and lead him up the mountain of salvation so he can bask in my heavenly aura forevermore
 (...um...)

--a well-mannered, bookish girl with old-fashioned values who, at the age of 23, has never had a drop of alcohol in her life
(but...wine is so very tasty...)

--a prostitute
(I was in a bakery uniform. 90% of my body was covered at the time.)

--someone who really likes kids
(Why would I like someone simply based on the age they are? It's not like youthfulness prevents a person from having a repulsive personality. It just makes it easier to get away with it.)


I've always assumed that it's fairly obvious that I'm not a hooker, teetotaler, or daycare worker in training. However, after seeing a video of me on the news where I expressed a set of mannerisms rather similar to Johnny Depp's performance in Secret Window, after realizing how often visitors can find my bedroom, and living room strewn with empty wine glasses (they accumulate over time!), after noticing the way my customer-service voice hits somewhere around the octave of your average caffeine-fueled 15-year-old schoolgirl, and how often I wander around my house singing to my cats (which is clearly why I've been mistaken for an angel of light, the kid-lover, and anything else on the list that's sweet and innocent...or crazy...), I've realized that I might be a bit more of a paradox than I think I am. 

This has actually creeped me out a little. What if it turns out I'm being mistaken for all these other things because they're real?? What if I'm an angelic wild alcoholic slutty baby-loving supporter of the temperance movement and I don't even know it? Who am I???