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Returned Diamond Rings, Crying Over Spilt Milkshakes, And Fender-Bender Flubs

First of all: There are at least three people, friends or acquaintances of mine, who--through conversations we've had or through some turn of events--have confessed that they read every single one of my blogs, after which they blush and look slightly bewildered about it. And I just have to tell you guys, don't be embarrassed. I'm flattered that you read what I write. Your consistent support is ROCK AWESOME. My high school literature teacher often told us, "we read to know that we are not alone." You read what I write and I read what you write because we have to know we're not alone, that our human experiences relate to one another. So yeah. For you three people, I love ya, and I'm grateful.

And if you only read a half of a blog on a blue moon Tuesday, I love ya too.

On to today's idea:

Charlie and I went for a five mile walk today, our destination was Walmart. I find I make less frivolous trips to the store if I make myself walk there to get what I need. I have to burn calories in order to burn cash. It works for me.

I digress.

On the way back on our mini trek, I passed a jewelry store. I couldn't help but notice a woeful young man sitting at the jewelry counter. A middle aged gent on the other side held up a magnifying glass while studying a diamond ring. And all of a sudden this scene from the RM started to play through my mind (if you like cheesy movies made by Latter-Day-Saint people, you'll know what I'm talking about). I may have started craving a little diet coke for a split second.

 I wish I could explain it more accurately, but in my mind's eye his story started to play out... how the reason he's here on a Tuesday morning is because he proposed to his girlfriend last night. They were up in the mountains at this beautiful vista point after a three-day-weekend of quality time together... he had a hidden photographer and everything, I'm sure of it... and she said no. And broke up with him. Here he is, in a funny little jewelry shop decorated with gears, next to Walmart, regretfully trying to sell them a ring that, at that moment, was meant to be on a beautiful blonde's left hand.

I just cried a little with him inside my heart for a minute. Have I ever had someone I really, really loved break up with me? No. Have I ever had to sell a piece of expensive jewelry after my life plan got scrambled? No. Do I know this guy? Not so. But his circumstance touched a tender piece of the romantic in me and I hurt alongside him for a little bit (that is, metaphorically. I did not park in front of the shop and weep. That would have been tremendously weird).

I hope somebody takes him out for a milkshake at least. Milkshakes are like a wimpy little bandaid on a breakup, but they help some, I've heard.

Speaking of milkshakes, have you ever seen a spilt milkshake in a parking lot before? I've seen at least three. The worst is when the cup reads JCW's, or somewhere of comparable quality, because you know they spent good money on that thing and it was a real delectable work-of-art kind of milkshake. They must have set it atop their automobile while trying to wrangle in a group of kidlets, and while they were getting those munchkins safely buckled, they were salivating just looking forward to their icy dessert.

Until they drove away with the milkshake still left on top, when it toppled to the ground and oozed over charcoal pavement.

What a bummer.

And I always, always groan in sympathy for the folks driving munched up cars on the edges of highways. Both the hit and the offender. What a rotten let-down.

If you're having a returned-diamond-rings-spilt-milkshake-fender-bender kind of day, I'm sorry.
You might feel terribly-horribly-no-good-very-badly-alone.

But just know there's passerby, like me, who see your plight and send up a little prayer for your day to improve and for God to send a little something awesome to put some pep in your step.






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