Things I couldn't have guessed

I've been in a funk. Maybe it's exhaustion? Too much sugar? The current moon phase? Regardless, I'm catching myself staring blankly at the wall more frequently than I'm comfortable with. Like my brain has sand in the gears and I'm crunch-crunch-crunching my way through the daily routine. 

I woke up this morning and the image of our cat filled the expanse of my dark, empty head. When I went to feed her last night she was meow-ing in the most pathetic way, as if to say, "Please good woman! Just pet me a while." And I would have, if I felt up to sneezing and snotting and eyes-swelling-up-like-Rango. I'm awfully allergic. Trust me, it's awful. And if only the poor little kitty knew, then maybe she wouldn't mistake me for a cold-hearted wench that quickly drops the food into her bowl and scurries back into the house, slamming the door. (I'm not mad, little cat. You have to slam our front door in order for it to close properly.)

I heard a piece on NPR the other day about how people with boring food preferences oftentimes have a higher density of taste-buds, causing them to experience tastes more (too) intensely. What a prospect! I thought of my sister, who we teased mercilessly for eating grated cheddar cheese by the bowl-full while the rest of the family ate, say, bean soup. And how at thirty-five she still won't touch a vegetable with a ten foot pole. How positively juvenile, I've been guilty of thinking. And as it turns out, that pitiful soul can't help the density of her taste-buds! If I had only known!

We spent the morning at the beach. Morning at the beach on a weekday in Florida equals speedo-clad, leathery-skinned, age-ripened old people swarming the shoreline like a mess of fruit flies carrying seashells and metal detectors. One such specimen eyed me disgustedly as I took off Stella's diaper to shower her off. There was a little present in there, how could I have known? I wiped her off, showered her off and purposely tried to catch this man's stare. 


My first impulse was to judge: He's obviously never had kids. Selfish old geezer. Doesn't he know children are wonderful? God's gift to the world? Even their poop? 

Then I thought of the cat, and my allergies, and my sister, and her taste-buds. 

My thoughts shifted to: Lonely widower? Got his house broken into last night and his tires slashed? Bad case of Botox that has left him with a permanent scowl? Poor, poor man. You just can't help yourself! 

Then our eyes met. My face broke out in the friendliest smile. He heaved a rude sigh and turned to walk away. 

People are such a mystery. Everyone has a story. Things are almost never what they seem. Isn't it so liberating?