Hello, awesome readers!
I know it’s wrong and I try not to do it.
Maybe we ALL know it’s wrong and can’t help ourselves. Well, except for the Dalai Lama. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t do it.
I’m talking about comparing.
Hands up if you’ve ever compared … your life to a celebrity’s … your car to your neighbor’s* … your current someone to your ex …
*You’ll note that I’ve taken to American spelling. This is because it’s supposed to be spring here but winter is acting like that friend you invite over for supper and a hundred hours later your friend is still in your house and you start to think that they’ll never leave. Meanwhile you’re silently pondering on ways to politely hint that maybe it’s time for your friend to go home while trying really hard not to yawn because all you want to do is go to bed with a book. In this analogy the friend is winter and the book is Florida.**
**Not so say that I want to go to bed with Florida. (Why do I feel like I need to clarify that?)
Enough interruptions from the Hamster.
Back to our story about comparing.
Recently my someone and I went to a sports bar to watch … I’m pretty sure it was football.
Knowing that I don’t like the cold, and being the considerate person that he is, my someone dropped me off at the door then went off to park the car. (Between you and me, awesome readers, I suspect that he had
an evil plan a strategy. Oh he is considerate and all but while his job was to be the man, my job was really to find us good seats at the bar.)
Next Scene: Said person who hates the cold walks into bar.
Because there was an, air-quotes, important game that night, much of the bar seats had reserved signs attached to them. But, being the resourceful and determined person that I am, I managed to find us two seats next to a group of men. I’m guessing they were there to watch the game as well. (Seeing as it was a sports bar, I suspect EVERYONE was there to watch the game. Well, except me. I was there for the wine.)
We interrupt this post to explain something.
Before I continue, I need to tell you something about me: I talk to everybody. I can’t help myself. For example, if you happen to see me standing in the check-out line at the grocery store, laughing about something with my best friend, 11 times out of 10 that best friend is someone I met about seven seconds ago. I blame my DNA. I come from a long line of story tellers and stranger talkers.
Back to the sports bar.
So I sit down at the bar next to this group of men and I say something. I don’t remember what I said. That’s not important. Meanwhile, my someone is taking forever to park the car. I’m thinking because of this, again air-quotes, important game, he probably had to park in another zip code.
By the time he walked in I had made best friends with said group of men and just as he – my someone – was approaching the bar stool I had saved for him, one of the men was saying something about how I should go sit next to him.
My someone, without missing a cool-as-a-cucumber beat, took off his jacket, looked him up and down and said, “Na. Thanks but you’re not my type.”
Within four seconds my someone had made best friends with my new friends and we all lived happily ever after.
And that’s why he’s my someone.
Now I’m not saying that my someone is better than your someone. I’m just saying that my someone is better than my previous someone.
That’s not comparing. That’s appreciating.
The Dalai Lama would be proud.
And now as promised, the apples’ response.
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