Blog: Sunny Sundays

    I have a bone to pick. A burr under my saddle. A twist in my knickers. And I shall inflict myself upon you innocent readers so that I may get it off my mind.

    Most Sunday mornings I treat myself to breakfast at a local mom and pop diner with my aunt and mom. It’s an older building, the kind that have a whole walls of windows (my favorite thing in a any room…it’s like an escape hatch for my mind) and we usually pick a spot where we can look outside and enjoy the scenery.

    Today, the sun is pouring in the windows and people are downright jovial as they come in to have a seat. Laughing with people they don’t know at the next table, waving, smiling; everyone feels better with the sun peeking out, don’t they? I mean who doesn’t love the sun right? We sometimes wait days to bask in it’s glorious, revitalizing rays, to watch a shadow dance on the ground, to see the world in it’s true colors and not the wash of grey it can have for weeks in this area where winter hangs on like a baby monkey.

    This is all true, don’t you think?

So, why then, does the nut-job at the next table want the blinds pulled?

I’m looking at my server as she leans over to twist out the sun, “Sorry, I know you hate this.”

    She has heard my incredulous response in the past whenever the another patron ask someone to do this. Could we, for one moment, be happy with what is?

    We complain about the sun not being here, then we ban it from our breakfast table. It’s too hot, it’s too cold, I hate mowing the grass, why is it always raining, when is it going to rain, there’s too much snow on the roof, I wish we would get some snow just to make everything pretty again. On and on we go, complaining as if we just do it out of habit.

    “It’s alright.” I smiled and turned to I take a look at the goober who made the request so I can flash them a ‘what the hell is wrong with you look?’ and now it all becomes very clear. The complainant is a woman at a table across the way, wearing those pajammies that apparently people think are OK to flounce around in in public. You know, the loungewear that shouldn’t leave your home but has been showing up at McDonalds, the grocery store, the mall and other inappropriate places. And hers are loud, LOUD I’m talking. Fleecey, ill fitting, hideous bright green with red Christmas balls nightmare pants! And Christmas is over! It’s February! At least get that part right. She probably still has her lights up….

    But then my pancakes arrive and distract me.

    Pancakes with maple syrup must make me more tolerant because I was having a talk with myself about how silly it was to get all wound up over some window blinds when it was a perfectly beautiful morning. I thought I might send a smile the sun-haters way, so I turned around but all I could see were those stupid pants…

    "Ooommmm, Oooommmm…"  I try to get myself in a peaceful place.

   

    Nope. Can’t do it…some things are just wrong.


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