Choices

Choices

Over the years, I have managed to convince myself that my life is much better than it would have been had I made a different decision. I was at the beginning of a great journey, aching to discover unseen worlds, and you were going to change everything—be in the way.

I couldn't hold onto you. And yet, I couldn't let you be with anyone else.

I will always wonder if I was selfish to end your voyage before it even began. After all, another family would have loved you just as much.

Maybe more.

It's About Me

We all have people in our lives that annoy us to no end. I have a few. Too many, some might say.

* * *

It's About Me

Your jaw has expanded to mammoth proportions, simply to allow you to speak out both sides. We've paid the contractor a premium to widen the door jams, which should make it easier for you to walk around with your enormous ego.

Contrary to what you may think, the sun doesn’t shine out your ass; though it may balance quite well on the stick you have rammed up there.

You are not all that, nor are you a bag of chips (though, if you were, you'd be sour-cream-and-onion...I hate sour-cream-and-onion).

Get over yourself, honey--it’s not all about you.

Everyone knows it’s about me.

Colour 101.3

Part three of three in the Colour saga. All true...you can't make up this kind of stuff!

No doubt, one day, there will be a part four. Most likely a part five.

* * *

Colour 101.3

Killing time while waiting for a car part for my Honda Civic Si, we wander through the show room, admiring the shiny colours and gleaming chrome of my Honda's brothers and sisters.

It isn't long before a salesman pounces on us like a feral cat.

“Is there something I can show you?” he asks, all but wringing his hands.

I wander over to a CRV and admire the colour.

“It’s a wonderful shade of blue,” I breathe.

My husband lays a hand on my shoulder and, in an apologetic tone, says to the salesman: “She’s colour blind.”

I throw him a questioning look and he says, in a tone reserved for explaining difficult concepts to children, “It’s green, dear.”

Oh.

The salesman stares at me, forces his lips into a shallow smile. His pasty face shifts into an expression of solemn pity, as though my inability to differentiate between green and blue is a tragic handicap that will diminish my quality of life.

"Too, bad," I say to Chris. "If only it were blue."

Knowing the ruse, Chris plays along.

He shrugs. "Maybe next time." And he leads me away to the parts counter.

I glance back, and Mr. Slick's smile is now a thin line.

"Blue that, buddy."