love & tolerance
I was visiting home I ran into my buddy Denise at the grocery store. It is a real small town up there so it is easy to run into people you know at the grocery store it pretty much happens any time you go to the grocery store because there are only two grocery stores. And she and I and her long time beau are standing at the check out line and he accidentally knocks her purse off the counter.
Wham! Keys go flying, make up goes flying, hair brushes, miscellaneous things that go in women’s purses, it all goes flying.
The three of us freeze, watching lip gloss and tampons roll across heavily trafficked linoleum.
And he says, “Oops, garage sale.”
And she laughs.
It made me think about relationships.
About what makes them work.
And I think it is tolerance. Of accidents. Of imperfections. And maybe an appreciation of humor during non-humorous events.
I might be too mean to make a relationship work. I am not too tolerant of stuff like having the contents of my purse strewn across a grocery store floor. Maybe I better get another dog. Though, oddly, I have dealt with puppies chewing up favorite shoes and gotten over it. [Shoes are sacrosanct to me.] Stripping wall paper off a wall I had to then re-paper. Pulling chunks out of a carpet I had to then re-patch. Pulling the stuffing out of a chair cushion I had to then re-upholster. [Loke was a Golden, Golden puppies have a rough stage.] Eating plants. Leaping in large muddy bodies of water that requires serious towel and bath action and do not ask what happens in the car between the leap and that bath action. And strewing my lingerie across the back yard for every neighbor, God, and the guys in a suspiciously slow moving helicopter to see.
Hmm. Actually. That is pretty damn tolerant.
Maybe I just like dogs better than men.