I try to be a pleasant person – put on a pleasant face, use a pleasant tone of voice, nod pleasantly as others speak to me. I try to shield others from my internal disdain, disbelief, disgust and disapproval of their obviously immature thoughts and decisions. However, I have been told that my face is an open book, bearing common words and large print. While kind words attempt to muffle the truth, this voice speaks in constant and ready commentary. I think I fool all but those who know me best. I might be fooling myself. 

While I do attempt to always be the beacon of light and peace that passes all understanding, there are barbs in this world that stick in my craw (thorns in my side, pains in my butt, flies in my ointment, goat getters). I shall list a few, in no particular order, because whenever they happen, they instantly become the worst thing imaginable—even though some are objectively worse than others. Should two occur simultaneously, we’d reach the top floor of superlativeness, and I’m not convinced English has a word for that.

*Noisy, ineffective windshield wipers. Squeak, hop or shake, thump at the end of each rise, or drag. I don’t care how hard it is raining. This will cause an immediate turn into O’Reilly and that salesperson is attaching the new ones. Sorry. You advertised that you would and I’m accepting that offer. I have also turned into a Toyota service department and paid the stupid crazy high price to have them attach new ones. I am telling you that enormous sigh of relief at silent smooth wipers can change my whole life direction. A cooling rain on a fresh lava run. Face probably doesn’t hide that even a little bit.

*An oddly specific offender is the smell of recent cigarette smoke mixed with cold air. Imagine that it’s 30 degrees (Fahrenheit, in case you think in Celsius, where 30 is not cold). Imagine a person just walking back inside from a cigarette break outside and the rush of cold air that pulls in the smoke residual aroma from their clothes, hair and breath and that cloud of toxic waste smacks me in the face just as I inhale. Bleh. I don’t love cigarette smoke anyway, but I kind of like the very first immediate scent of freshly lit tobacco -not the continuing smell of the paper and the additives smoking and choking me. I don’t want to smell freshly lit tobacco all the time, but once every decade, no problem. I have already smelled all the cigarette smoke and cold air combo I ever want or need to. I am fully satisfied.

*Anyone attempting to rephrase what I say into what they erroneously interpreted and telling me that is what I meant. No Brenda. Just because I don’t like the flavor of thyme on my chicken, does not mean that I am criticizing your cooking. And to be sure, from now on, I am not even going to attempt to correct you. I am just going to say, “you are right” and walk away from it. Hopefully my face will limit the truth telling on that one.

I know there are more and probably less trivial situations and things that bother me. For some reason those three stood out to me today.  I imagine murdering me would be annoying, or even falling short of murder on the “attempted” slope. Stealing from me, lying to me, failing to recognize that I am the funniest, not reading my blog, etc, would all bother me. Don’t look too closely under my smiling face. I am trying.

Until Next Time,

Your Friend, Tracy