My wife has a phobia about dang near everything in life down to the smallest details. Not so long ago we went on an after-dinner ice cream date to Braum's. She noted that there was an extra-long line in the drive-thru lane. I usually never try to negotiate a drive-thru, I'm a go inside guy. She however does not because (and I quote her directly) "even a trip to Wal-Mart, can make my pits sweat." I always find it interesting that people do pretty well with the one on one, but when it comes to crowds not so much. What exactly is the difference? Isn't a crowd just an enlarged one on one? Interestingly the Pew Research Center not so long ago conducted a study on people's biggest fears, and this is how it shook out. The number one American fear is public speaking, the number two fear was death. Please allow that information to sink into the grey matter of your brain and ruminate for just a moment. That means by overwhelming public opinion you would be better off being the guy in the pine box than to be the one delivering the eulogy. Does that kind of logic compute with you? To be perfectly honest I find it a bit perplexing, but I am certain my wife would agree. Yet I digress, decompress, and coalesce.
You might be wondering just what my wife's plan might be about negotiating the drive-thru. In her eyes, if there is a long line there is a much bigger chance that by the time her ice cream order makes it to her it could be melted. Well, isn't that just a first world problem? So, she will usually wait out the line no matter how long it takes. She has also told me any time she brings a bag of ice home from the store the thought of it melting before she can get it home causes something she refers to as "nervosa." Which at that point in my vocabulary journey was just a secondary word often used in correlation with the word anorexia. Am I wrong? Realistically all of these things are nothing more than just a crap shoot we all refer to lackadaisically as life. Never lose sight of the fact that the time we get to spend on this earth is but the blink of an eye. It often disappears quicker than a popcorn fart in a wind tunnel, so never forget to celebrate even the small victories.
Try carrying a bucket of potable water on your head for twenty miles in the arid sun like they do in Kenya and then let me know how worried you are about melted ice cream. That rates right up there with shoelaces that come untied, car keys that inevitably get misplaced, taxes that are filed after the deadline, and deodorants that stop working after twelve hours, give or take fifteen minutes. I have said it numerous times before, but I stand by it, life IS all about perception. However, she does have one valid point, once ice cream goes from a solid to a liquid state it is usually no longer worth consuming, and certainly not worth paying for. At that point it is largely no longer viable or edible. It's like McDonald's fries, when they are hot, they are a salty and tasty treat. But once they get cold, they are no longer resemble or taste like real food. After that they usually just rest merrily between your front seat and the console until next year when you do your spring vacuuming. But they never mold or rot, that only happens to real food. Isn't it also interesting that McDonalds "food" (for lack of a better word) sounds good, smells great, and tastes like heaven shoved into a cardboard box, but thirty minutes after you ingest it you begin to feel like you have just eaten something toxic. Your body tends to go into some kind of weird (half awake) panic like a hibernating bear.
You will be relieved to know that our ice cream was not melted by the time we made it to the window. We realized it was a tricky proposition when we embarked on the venture, but for her sake I am glad we dodged that bullet. I wonder if this is the same kind of relief Bill Clinton felt when the news of the blue stained dress got out, panicked yet somewhat relieved. Like the guy who tries to escape the prison yard and they throw that spotlight on him and he finally gives into the cold feel of the cuffs back on his wrists. The best part of the story, however, was when my wife asked me how I never get sick of her constant phobias. She asked the question as if to elude that I might have a "SHUT THE HELL UP" permanently locked in the chamber. This may sound strange to some of you men, but I find my wife's idiosyncrasies comical and borderline charming. And it seems she finally upped the ante on phobias like only she can as she was worried that her phobias would (also) cause me distress. Isn't that the definition of absurdity? I am here to say that my wife doesn't have what it takes to cause me distress. The last time I saw red was when Arby's accidently confused my curly fries for crinkle kind. Only my lovely wife could make a paradox designed to drive me to the brink of insanity be that entertaining. I love you Clight!!
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