Jever wonder what would happen the next time a stranger asks, "How ya doing?" and you actually told them the truth?
There is an old guy with crazy eyes, a dirty white t-shirt and constant stubble who lives in our town (under a bridge I presume) and who I always see at Walmart strolling along pushing an empty cart.
Maybe he lives in Walmart.
As often as I'm there, it's conceivable some people think I live there.
This guy is unkempt, to say the least (which I try never to do) and his hair always looks like he just got off a roller coaster. Despite his appearance, he is forever inexplicably happy. Like he just won the Publisher's Clearinghouse or spent the entire day at an amusement park.
Maybe he did just get off a roller coaster.
Every single day.
Even though we have no roller coasters in this little town.
Why am I living in a town without roller coasters? How will I ever be truly happy if I can't ride a roller coaster before I go to Walmart eight times a day?
My life sucks.
So each and every time I see this guy... and I mean every blessed time even after all these years, he always smiles like a monkey and asks me, "How ya doing?"
Today I deeply wanted to tell him.
"Here's the scoop, crazy eye guy who is way too happy for no apparent reason. My husband...first name Mister, last name Man, is a 6'2" cripple who, although I love him awful, I may have to kill brutally in the near future. I am working my happy assets off doing many things for many people trying to make all the ends meet and still they are not meeting as they should. My house is a disaster and for the OCD Chick, that is like having a brain tumor.
I hate my hair, my face, my boobs, my nose and my thumbs and I don't know why. I also hate other people's hair, faces, boobs, noses and thumbs... but I totally know why.
My son turns 13 tomorrow, my daughter 23 in August and I still haven't grown up or been able to explain the meaning of life to them other than to say Mommy and Daddy were fighting and you were born on the anniversary of that fight.
I can't sleep, I can't eat without the sensation of having eaten Ivory Soap laced with tacks and to top it all off, I cut the dog's hair to save money and now the other dog won't play with him."
Does it make me a bad girl because I want to make a nice, albeit insane, old man run crying from a store with Always Low Prices just to make myself feel better for a minute?
I think it does. But that's why you love me, isn't it?
Things would have worked out perfectly had I been Mrs. Journey. Here's the best Journey song ever, ever, ever. You're welcome.
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