Last week stunk like a rotten egg.
I got a stomach bug on Wednesday night. It wasn’t so bad that I couldn’t work, but I just didn’t feel good. It is not fun sitting in a board meeting with a grumbling belly. Ya sort of cough under your breath in the hopes that the people at the table don’t hear the gastric rumblings.
I woke up on Thursday dragging my butt out the door and couldn’t find my wallet. I tore up the house. I had my mother and mother-in-law help. For some reason, women can typically find stuff that men just can’t – but not this time.
I offered my kids twenty bucks if they could find it. Nada.
My buddy from work dug under the seats of my car because I had “clearly just overlooked it.”
I backtracked my steps to the restaurant where I last remembered using my VISA card. I even looked in the refrigerator, because for me it would not be inconceivable that I set it beside the leftover Moo Goo Gai Pan.
I’ve been waiting for my new credit card for a week – been walking around with hundreds of dollars in my pocket, withdrawn from the bank with a bit of charm and an expired passport.
I can’t order my kids’ school lunches – even that takes an online credit card payment these days. PB and J baby, paid for with cash!
Then Sunday, after driving to my parent’s house to celebrate my sweet father’s 75th birthday, my car door was demolished – by my sweet 75-year-old father. He was backing out of the driveway on his way to church.
“Did you notice I bumped your car?” he questioned when I arrived in our pew.
“Yea. The dangling side mirror gave it away.”
Unfortunately I cannot yet demand his license be stripped – because I need him to haul my kids around Raleigh four days each month. Buckle up sweeties!
I think it was before the car dent that I thought to myself: God, you really don’t like me do you? First you take my wife, next it’s a missing wallet and the Norovirus. Can’t you mess with Phyllis? She hasn’t had one problem since I’ve known her.
My friend’s wife calls life’s little annoyances Joy Killers. They take a perfectly normal person and temporarily, if you’re lucky, dismantle your happiness. In my eyes, I had become Job – well, minus the body boils, the loss of my house, my cattle and all of my heirs.
You’d think that someone who has dealt with such significant loss and pain wouldn’t let the smaller things in life get the best of him. Nah, it’s been two and a half years, I’m back to self-pity for life’s minor infractions.
When Lisa was sick, a friend once told me that she couldn’t get rid of head lice in her house. Every time she’d think they were gone, one of her children would show up with another nit. It was exasperating and exhausting. She said the way she got through it was to think, Lisa Tanner has life threatening cancer, suck it up! This is head lice!
God’s not messing with me. I just need to wash my hands a little better and park further back in the driveway. I’m a little ashamed that I temporarily lost sight of what I’ve been through. I’d gladly lose my wallet every single day of my life if it would mean that I could get Lisa back. It’s time for me to neutralize my Joy Killers and save the self-pity for something a bit more deserving than an unscheduled trip to the DMV.