Saturday, February 28, 2009

They can take a flying leap

....more Mrs. Sundberg

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I'd just gotten off the phone with my friend Vernie who called to tell me she was just calling to let me know she wasn't feeling well and she wouldn't be calling that evening. She does that. Calls to tell me she isn't calling. I don't get it. Why not NOT call, and that way you really won't call and I'll know all the same. But I don't push it with Vernie. She's quite a bit older than I, and prone to taking offense, and when you love someone why pick? Just let them be. There's a better chance they'll let you be, and what greater thing in life is there than to be able to be just who you are, and loved, without being picked at?

That's one reason I don't want to be president. Because no matter what you wear or do or say, someone is going to go after you. Your tie is the wrong color, your haircut cost too much, or it's the wrong haircut. You spelled "tomato" wrong, you tripped while exiting the plane, you dribbled some spaghetti sauce on your shirt, and your fly was open. You dozed during a meeting. You're left-handed. You're right-handed. You're underhanded, backwards, overdoing it, smooth. You're slow. You're slick. You fly around the world too much; you really ought to go.

And on and on. I can't imagine. It's bad enough going to church some Sundays wearing a wrinkled dress or jeans instead of a dress and sitting in someone else's pew by mistake and forgetting it was Potluck Sunday so you have to stop by the corner store and pick up some rolls or a jar of pickles. 'Course, you show up just right in a polka dot dress with a hotdish and you sit where you belong, and there will be something. Your hair, your lipstick, your weight, your whatever. Someone will find it. Your flaw of the day.

Those who point and whisper and gossip and pick? They can take a flying leap. The people you want around are the ones who don't notice, or the ones who notice and don't say boo. It's good to be human, after all. Your imperfections make you real, and make me just a tad more comfortable with mine. Ain't that the truth.

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