When Being Right Is Better Than Facing The Alternative

I used 'ta never be late and late people frustrated me. 

I've talked trash 'bout enough late folks that ghosts are haunting me.

 

What goes around comes around.

I can't get anywhere on time.

I used 'ta could bring home the bacon fry it up in a pan read them tickoty tock and never let him forget he's a man - and still have time for a rousing round of I Am Woman Hear Me Roar.

 

To tell you the story of what happened to me this morning is very humbling - and pathetic.

Don't forget pathetic.

I was running late. I had not washed out forty four pairs of socks and ironed two dozen shirts while dipping lard from a can and shopping before you could count to nine.

I was by myself with no one to slow me down and I was still running late. 

 

And I couldn't find my purse.

 

I had Bible and VBS papers and pile of dishtowels brought home to wash in my hands and I was ready to walk out door - but where was my purse?

 

Entire house had exploded in living room and I was throwing things on that side of sofa to other side to look under them to throw them back to look under other side and then same to sofa number two and chair one and then chair two and I still couldn't find my purse.

 

I even looked in ice chest that doesn't belong in living room just because it was there and my purse wasn't.

 

So I say to self -

 

Self, maybe you left it in van. 

 

No, self says back.  I didn't.  I know I didn't. 

 

Then a little of my mama comes out - well it didn't grow legs and walk away.

 

Thanks, Mama.

 

So, while kicking my own self in hinny - like I've said before, that used to be easier - I go to look in van.  I look everywhere.  In the front and middle and back and under dresser and chair that does not belong in van but are.  I even look in drawers of the dresser . . .

 

Yeah,

 

This. Is. My. Life.

 

and I still couldn't find my purse.

 

Frustration is mounting higher than spoon that jumped over moon I used 'ta could read to them while feeding babies greasing the car and powdering my nose all at the same time.

 

So I take a deep breath.  Doctors that help find your mind when you lose it say that works -  so I breathe deep and lay down Bible and papers and dishtowels and step out of van.

 

Something doesn't feel right.  I feel a weight.

 

I look down.

 

And there it is. Hanging on crook of left elbow.

 

My purse.

 

Hanging there the entire time.

 

Ha - I told you I didn't leave it in the van.

 

Being right feels so fine.