The Small Stuff
by Do your best, and forget the rest.
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I feel the weight, almost subconsciously, of eternity, even as I stand in the aisle at Walmart, reaching, for the umpteenth time, to pick out the wrong toilet paper. Between the time wife Deborah has written down, also for the umpteenth time, exactly which squeezably soft product I’m supposed to get, and when I stand, baffled, in the middle of a mile-long row of rolled pulp, having once again left my list in the car, my mind has erased everything, and I am as a newborn, blinded by the light. Big-roll, Large-roll, Mega-roll, Big-Mega-Large-roll, Ultra-soft, Super-Ultra-Something-Or-Other, New-and-Improved, Tried-and-True, 80-grit, Marked Down. Aaargh!
But, hey, this is the cell phone generation; I’ll just call home and ask. Duh. Uh, oh, no reception. Maybe it’s all the shrink-wrap that’s causing interference. I move to the Rubbermaid aisle. No answer. Back to the TP aisle. No reception. One more try; from the candy row. No answer.
Instead of walking back to the car to retrieve my list, I boldly decide to Make A Choice, hedging my bet, as usual, by picking up a large bar of Ghirardelli dark chocolate, to use as a peace offering when I inevitably bring home the wrong 24-pack of quadruple-ply, environmentally and politically incorrect bowl clogger.
I do wonder, at times, if maybe I’m really just being sent for the chocolate, and everything else is merely part of some convoluted and otherworldly ruse, the angels momentarily bored with their own daily grind.
The people in my life get more bent out of shape if I get the wrong toothpaste (again), or the wrong kind of sandwich bread, than they do when I tell them that Brian Williams and Katie Couric give us two weeks until the Apocalypse. If Brian and Katie say it’s so, then that’s all there is to it, but we still have to eat, wipe, and brush in the meantime, and I guess the little things are all I can hope to control.
I’d best spend my wisp of existence working on improving the TP selection and making sure I get the right combination of whiteners and plaque-busters.
But, whoa, look at this: Off-Brand Whiter-than-White bread is on sale; I’m sure the girls will love it. Maybe, one of these days, I’ll get around to solving the global warming problem, but first I’ve got a few things to work out right here in Wally World: I wonder if store-brand margarine be okay, and what about that marked-down beef, and hey, lookit, two-for-one on 55-gallon drums of Diet Grease. . .
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Post CommentBullwinkle Muse
On April 9, 2009 at 8:19 am
OK, that’s 2 pieces in a row that I’ve read this morning involving the end of the world, coffee, and toilet references. Is there something in the water I should know about? Or are you and Duff-man sharing late-night snacks?
Rod Ferrandino
On April 9, 2009 at 8:25 am
I’ll have to check on the Big D; of course, he is a ruthless cad, bounder, and scoundrel.
Duff D Moss
On April 9, 2009 at 8:48 am
I tend to think that perhaps I am dragging the tone of the place down to my level. If Mr Muse should start to show signs…I may be required to leave. The picture of the toilet roll holder – too close for comfort to a story that is in progress. Fortunately for Triond I think my story is crap (no pun intended – I think), and it probably will never see the day of publishing.
Anyhow – great read as always Rod – I always feel an uncanny parallel in my own life with your stories. I do think you have got it though – the chocolate is known by them – it is all a ploy. They can NEVER be made happy. Also, you get the chocolate to pay for the pathetic excuse of a man they know you are, AND then when they complain about being too fat – that is YOUR fault too because YOU bought the chocolate