Don’t Sweat the Cider and Pee Stuff
It’s a humbling experience when a know-it-all (perhaps justified about a limited amount of subjects) gets something spilled on him and schooled by others on something which should have been mastered in adolescence. Definitely by the dirty thirty….
When said know-it-all was a triple major….
When said know-it-all paid their student loans…
When said know-it-all is kinda bilingual…
When said know-it-all provides unlicensed counseling services to family and friends…
When said know-it-all runs a blog about politics, history and related serious matters…
In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I am the know-it-all.
An obvious “pee stain” on khaki pants puts in all into perspective. The book title Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff…and It’s All Small Stuff popped into my brain. Incidentally, I purchased the book for $1 at a library sale and have not read it yet, which might sort of prove its point in a convoluted, cosmic way….
Let me backtrack, allow me to set the scene for apple cider and urine.
Invasions of brown and yellow.
Non-animal invasive species.
You get the idea.
Despite having all hours of the day to get some writing done, I choose to jump around the Internets on random topics, subconsciously unable to commit to begin the writing process and its rather long cycle of writing and re-writing.
My sister Kelli, mutual friend of the female persuasion Vanessa and myself trekked to Sangria’s, a Mexican restaurant in which Kelli says “you live your best life.” Being a Saturday night, the wait was between 45 and 75 minutes.
A Dollar Tree was nearby. Needing some common adult necessities despite being a partial man-child, I was elated to head over. Pleasing my deal-hungry self, I purchased almost the entire shelf of discount items, which included cereals, mac and cheese, fruit snacks, pizza crusts and tortillas, to Vanessa’s chagrin.
In an act which must have been punishment for my general sassiness and know-it-all behavior, Vanessa reached for a can of seltzer water. Reminiscent of Ghost Hunters, a bottle dropped to the floor and shattered without being touched by not a one of our merry trio.
Vanessa was unaffected. Able to lick the drops off her hand, Kelli emerged unscathed.
Yours truly got a full frontal blast. Middle class khakis, appearing to be popular around 2008, were stained in a sea of cider.
Initially annoyed, I picked up the glass shards. Once I realized I had no injuries and a funny anecdote. “Don’t sweat the small stuff. It’s all the small stuff” popped into my brain.
Besides our table was ready. It was time to feast! Faced with the prospect of idyllic inebriation and colorful, festive Mexican food, I let the wallet spill as if I never had possessed any sense of fiscal responsibility.
Two Margarita carafes and a fairly large enchilada entrée later, the khakis returned to their normal tan, their besmirchment forgotten.
We made it out to Barnes and Noble. I must confess I purchased a photograph book I might not read but I simply couldn’t resist.
Due to my idyllic inebriation, I found myself in the bathroom more often.
After one particular water closet trip, I rushed getting out, eager to return to adult coloring books and semi-pretentious literary criticism.
Upon my entrance in the living room, both Kelli and Vanessa pointed out that my pants were graced with the invasive species known as the pee spot.
Flummoxed, I nonetheless owned my teenage moment, again recognizing the man child that I am.
A litany of thoughts appeared in my noggin.
I managed to get three majors, pay off my student loans, live abroad and write a semi-literate blog on divisive topics…
But I cannot rid my pants of piss.
A younger me might have been frustrated the whole evening.
The wiser, bearded, Ben Franklin spectacle wearing version of myself is slightly wiser.
Being able pontificate about politics, history and all serious matters, be fiscally responsible and a know-it-all about subject matter which may not deliver a well-paying job but makes you moderately more interesting at parties…..
Doesn’t preclude you from getting piss on your pants every once in a while.
And that’s ok.
Because you shouldn’t sweat the small stuff.
And it’s all small stuff.
Whether or not your khakis have cider and/or pee on them.