I must have some kind of “not okay” demeanor, because my friends often feel compelled to ask “what’s wrong?” My mind will immediately race through all the possibilities. Well, my bananas are overripe, my stretched-out underwear has taken up permanent residence in my butt-crack, and when the hell are they going to let Josh drive the boat on Deadliest Catch?
I am a quiet sort of person, and people take that to mean that I’m thinking serious thoughts, when I’m actually wondering if I should get the hand soap with honey and cocoa butter, or the aloe vera. In the end I just choose the white soap because it goes better with my fake marble counter tops.
I’m at the age now where I really should be examining my accomplishments in life. What have I contributed to society? What kind of legacy will I leave after I’m gone? Should I have flossed more often as a child? I tend to compare myself to the greats like Stephen Hawking and Dave Barry, and I consistently come up short.
This would certainly give me good cause to look un-okay, but as it happens, I tend to set the bar kind of low. My bills are paid and the dog hasn’t barfed on the carpet today. I’ll put that in the win column. I’m also good at letting things go. When the server at Wendy’s puts too much chocolate syrup in my milkshake, I call him an idiot (behind his back) and that’s the end of it.
So when people ask, I have to conclude that, yes, I really am okay. If I could find underwear that fit right, I would be freakin’ awesome.