It's time for another edition of "When Sentimental Emails Attack!" My commentary can be found in parentheses.
***
The story goes that some time ago a man punished his 5-year-old daughter for wasting a roll of expensive gold wrapping paper using it to decorate a box to put under the Christmas tree. [Oh, yes, that old story. I’m sure you are all familiar with it…]
Nevertheless, on Christmas morning the little girl brought the gift box to her father and said, "This is for you, Daddy." The father was embarrassed by his earlier over reaction, but his anger flared again when he found the box was empty. [Because he wasn't so embarrassed that he couldn't ridicule his daughter once again.] He spoke to her in a harsh manner, "Don't you know, young lady, when you give someone a present there's supposed to be something inside the package?" [“It’s like an unwritten law! Have I taught you NOTHING!?"]
The little girl looked up at him with tears in her eyes and [taking a cue from The Grinch, she made up a lie, and she made it up quick], "Oh, Daddy, it's not empty. I blew kisses into it until it was full." [Nice save.] The father was crushed. He fell on his knees and put his arms around this little girl, and he begged her to forgive him for his unnecessary anger. [Until the next time she did something unproductive with wrapping paper!]
An accident took the life of the child only a short time later [An accident...or an abusive father? The case is still under investigation.] and it is told that the father kept that gold box by his bed for all the years of his life. And whenever he was discouraged or faced difficult problems he would open the box and take out an imaginary kiss and remember the love of the child who had put it there. [On days when he was feeling particularly crappy, he would pull out the box of imaginary guilt that he kept next to the box of imaginary kisses.]
In a very real sense, each of us as human beings have been given a golden box filled with unconditional love and kisses from our children, family and friends. [No, that is a very figurative sense. In a very real sense, we’ve been given boxes that have real Seinfeld Season V and VI DVDs in them.] There is no more precious possession anyone could hold. [Amen to THAT!]
You now have two choices. You can:
* 1- Pass this on to your friends [that you want to stop talking to you] or
* 2- Delete it and act like it didn't touch your heart. [Third choice, hunt down the person who wrote this drivel and give them a gold-papered box of POO!]
As you can see, I took choice No. 1. [And choice number 3. All in good time…]
Friends are like angels who lift us to our feet when our wings have trouble remembering how to fly. [I don’t have any wings. Do YOU have wings? Where are we supposed to get wings? I WANT MY WINGS!] Think positive and act. This is nice finding something positive out of every negative, which we don't always manage to do.
I am thankful....
- For the partner who snores all night, because he is at home asleep with me and not with someone else. [There’s one you hear around the Thanksgiving table every year.]
- For the taxes that I pay, because it means that I am employed. [But don’t get to keep all of the money I earn.]
- For the clothes that fit a little too snug, because it means I have enough to eat. [Sounds like you have too much to eat, pal.]
- For my shadow that watches me work, because it means I am out in the sunshine. [Wow, talk about a stretch.]
- For a floor that needs mopping, and windows that need cleaning, because it means I have a home. [Or that you are cleaning somebody else’s home.]
- For all the complaining I hear about the government, because it means that we have freedom of speech. [But a corrupt government.]
- For the parking spot I find at the far end of the parking lot, because it means I am capable of walking and that have been blessed with transportation. [It also means you’ll be getting out of WalMart around April.]
- For the pile of laundry and ironing, because it means I have clothes to wear. [Uhm, no you don’t. It’s all in a pile of dirty laundry.]
- For weariness and aching muscles at the end of the day, because it means I have been capable of working hard. [And that my wife won’t ask me to help around the house, because hey – I’ve got achy muscles here!]
- For the alarm that goes off in the early morning hours, because it means that I am alive. [Because if you wake up later in the morning, you’re dead, as everybody knows.]
AND FINALLY...
- For too much e-mail, because it means I have friends who are thinking of me. [And by "thinking of me," I mean "hitting their 'forward' button."]
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Breaking Up Is Hard To Do
My co-worker, Tobie,* has lived in Las Vegas for a number of years, but originally heralds from Planet Drama, where she is considered royalty. (*Names have been changed. Kind of. She spells it without the “e.”) Each morning when I walk into the office, I am curious as to what the Crisis De Jour will be. The dramatic episodes range from “Last night I talked to my mom for the first time in three years!” to “I lost 1.5 pounds!” And more recently, she broke up with her boyfriend of eight months. Or more accurately, he broke up with her. And what, prêt ell, could be more dramatic than that?! (Well, if you’re Tobie, then just about anything.)
So I’m listening to her heartbreaking story, line upon line and precept by precept, when I suddenly begin having flashbacks to my own breakups. I start getting knots in my stomach, I get a little moist under the arms, and I find myself looking for the opportunity to assure Tobie that her and I can still be friends, even though we aren’t the ones breaking up. It’s just instinct.
For me, breakups were the absolute worst. I avoided them like they were cancer. Oh, how they pained me to the core of my dating soul. It’s still hard to talk about some of them…
Tess Dresher. Fourth Grade. I can still recall the day she walked up to me during recess and asked me to “go with her.” “Sure,” I answered. And those were the last words every exchanged between Tess and myself. We occasionally sat by each other, and I gave her a very special Peanuts Valentine’s Day card, but we never did speak, or even make eye contact. So I guess technically we are still “going together.” Boy is she going to be mad when she finds out I got married and had five children. She’ll want to break up for sure. I’m not looking forward to that conversation.
Julia Zimmerman. High School. It was the summer of 1987, and I was sixteen years old – with a license to drive and to date! I knew Julia really liked me when her mom had grounded her and she promptly ignored said house arrest to go to the movies with me. Yes, we were young and crazy in love! I was pretty sure that after the summer of 1987 I could die happy. By fall of 1987 I was so miserable I was praying for death. We went to different high schools and Julia was first to acknowledge that our long distance relationship wasn’t really going to make it. I nodded my head in agreement, but inside I felt like somebody was cramming my heart through a paper shredder.
Danielle Perrett. College. Danielle and I dated for an entire year, from October 1992 to October 1993. But by June of ’93 I knew we were not meant to be and that a breakup was inevitable. Since you know my aversion to breakups I can tell you that rather than actually breakup, I considered leaving the country. I was about to call my travel agent when Danielle informed me that she was leaving the country for three months for a study abroad program. I may have sounded a tad too supportive, but away she went, and there I stayed, to date and engage in much frivolity throughout the entire summer. By the time Danielle returned at the beginning of September, I had crafted, in my mind, how the breakup would go. And seven weeks later, at the end of October, I finally found the intestinal fortitude to go through with it. And it was the kind of train wreck that, if you were watching it in a movie, you would fast forward through it, so painful would it be to watch.
It was Halloween night. We had gone to a party and we were sitting in my car in the parking lot of her apartment complex. I was dressed as Aladdin, she was Jasmine. Things had been in the pooper for quite some time, and it felt like a stranger walking by could glance in our direction and know exactly what was happening.
It was silent for a few minutes, and then I spoke up.
“I think we should see other people.”
“I told you to see other people last week.”
“I mean you should see other people.”
“I told you I don’t want to see other people. You should.”
“I have.”
“You ALREADY have?!”
“Hey, I don’t want there to be bad feelings between us.”
“Are you giving me the Friend Speech? Don’t you DARE give me the Friend Speech!”
“Uh…NO…never, never. I think it’s just me. See, I have a problem with –”
“OH, NO – the ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ bit?”
“Noooo! That’s not what I mean at all...”
An eternal silence. Like…three days have passed while we’ve sat in the car. And finally she speaks.
“Well, what do you want me to do?”
“I…don’t understand the question.”
“I can’t do this!” she yells, and starts bawling as she bails out of the car. “I can’t talk about this right now!” and she leaves the car door open, running into the night. I get out and follow her to make sure she makes it to her apartment, then drive to my own. I walk into my place to find a ringing telephone. I answer.
“…Hello?”
“I just want to make sure I heard you LOUD AND CLEAR!”
“Uhhhhh….yessssss.”
“Define our relationship.”
“What?”
“Define our relationship!”
“Uhm…over...?”
Some muffled sobbing, and then click went the phone.
Excruciatingly painful, right? But not as painful as Tobie’s overly dramatic reaction to the hair she found in her salad at lunch today. “I almost ate this and diiiiiiieeeeedddddd!”
So I’m listening to her heartbreaking story, line upon line and precept by precept, when I suddenly begin having flashbacks to my own breakups. I start getting knots in my stomach, I get a little moist under the arms, and I find myself looking for the opportunity to assure Tobie that her and I can still be friends, even though we aren’t the ones breaking up. It’s just instinct.
For me, breakups were the absolute worst. I avoided them like they were cancer. Oh, how they pained me to the core of my dating soul. It’s still hard to talk about some of them…
Tess Dresher. Fourth Grade. I can still recall the day she walked up to me during recess and asked me to “go with her.” “Sure,” I answered. And those were the last words every exchanged between Tess and myself. We occasionally sat by each other, and I gave her a very special Peanuts Valentine’s Day card, but we never did speak, or even make eye contact. So I guess technically we are still “going together.” Boy is she going to be mad when she finds out I got married and had five children. She’ll want to break up for sure. I’m not looking forward to that conversation.
Julia Zimmerman. High School. It was the summer of 1987, and I was sixteen years old – with a license to drive and to date! I knew Julia really liked me when her mom had grounded her and she promptly ignored said house arrest to go to the movies with me. Yes, we were young and crazy in love! I was pretty sure that after the summer of 1987 I could die happy. By fall of 1987 I was so miserable I was praying for death. We went to different high schools and Julia was first to acknowledge that our long distance relationship wasn’t really going to make it. I nodded my head in agreement, but inside I felt like somebody was cramming my heart through a paper shredder.
Danielle Perrett. College. Danielle and I dated for an entire year, from October 1992 to October 1993. But by June of ’93 I knew we were not meant to be and that a breakup was inevitable. Since you know my aversion to breakups I can tell you that rather than actually breakup, I considered leaving the country. I was about to call my travel agent when Danielle informed me that she was leaving the country for three months for a study abroad program. I may have sounded a tad too supportive, but away she went, and there I stayed, to date and engage in much frivolity throughout the entire summer. By the time Danielle returned at the beginning of September, I had crafted, in my mind, how the breakup would go. And seven weeks later, at the end of October, I finally found the intestinal fortitude to go through with it. And it was the kind of train wreck that, if you were watching it in a movie, you would fast forward through it, so painful would it be to watch.
It was Halloween night. We had gone to a party and we were sitting in my car in the parking lot of her apartment complex. I was dressed as Aladdin, she was Jasmine. Things had been in the pooper for quite some time, and it felt like a stranger walking by could glance in our direction and know exactly what was happening.
It was silent for a few minutes, and then I spoke up.
“I think we should see other people.”
“I told you to see other people last week.”
“I mean you should see other people.”
“I told you I don’t want to see other people. You should.”
“I have.”
“You ALREADY have?!”
“Hey, I don’t want there to be bad feelings between us.”
“Are you giving me the Friend Speech? Don’t you DARE give me the Friend Speech!”
“Uh…NO…never, never. I think it’s just me. See, I have a problem with –”
“OH, NO – the ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ bit?”
“Noooo! That’s not what I mean at all...”
An eternal silence. Like…three days have passed while we’ve sat in the car. And finally she speaks.
“Well, what do you want me to do?”
“I…don’t understand the question.”
“I can’t do this!” she yells, and starts bawling as she bails out of the car. “I can’t talk about this right now!” and she leaves the car door open, running into the night. I get out and follow her to make sure she makes it to her apartment, then drive to my own. I walk into my place to find a ringing telephone. I answer.
“…Hello?”
“I just want to make sure I heard you LOUD AND CLEAR!”
“Uhhhhh….yessssss.”
“Define our relationship.”
“What?”
“Define our relationship!”
“Uhm…over...?”
Some muffled sobbing, and then click went the phone.
Excruciatingly painful, right? But not as painful as Tobie’s overly dramatic reaction to the hair she found in her salad at lunch today. “I almost ate this and diiiiiiieeeeedddddd!”
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