Ah, The Little Things

There is an old saying that I love—

“It is the little things that do you in.

You can sit on the head of a mountain,

but you can’t sit on the head of a pin.”

How often do we over-react to pet-peeves that are merely simple, little, non-consequential repetitive irritations?  In my case, fairly often.

I seriously try to keep the big picture in mind and slough off the small stuff, and yet my human tendencies seem to rise faster than prices at a gas station. Here are a few of my triggers at the moment:

–      I hate the feel of wet flip-flops. Walking becomes tantamount to skating on ice once the rubber gets dampened between my foot and the sole. So why is it that no matter how hard I try to avoid getting my flip-flops wet while watering plants, inevitably the stars and planets align and a substantial splash lands perfectly on my feet? Why?

It’s not like I throw caution to the wind and stand comfortably erect. No, most of the time I have my feet and butt stuck out as far away from the hose as possible. (You know, kinda like hugging a Lutheran in church…you certainly don’t want body contact so you sorta touch shoulders and do three gentle back taps.) But despite my body contortions I still get wet feet. Argh.

• When I sweep the kitchen floor Pudgy appears from nowhere and rolls in the dirt pile before I can get it into the dustpan. Then she runs off and redistributes the dirt around the house.
• Whenever I decide that a food item has passed its prime and toss it, my husband suddenly wants that very item. Right now. But again, why? It’s been available for consumption for days. But noooo. Only after I throw it away does the craving come. Sigh.
• One more. There is a direct universal link between the days I either go sans make-up for just “a quick” walk with Booker, or still have on my fun pajamas and walk outside to say something to my husband, and the likelihood of somebody randomly stopping by and catching me at my finest.

I still cringe when I think about the time my husband convinced me it was too early for anybody to be around on the paved trail near town. “Just get out of bed, throw on a sweatshirt, and let’s run the dog,” he said.  Mussed hair, smudged mascara, and non-brushed teeth later, I was rollerblading alongside my husband and dog. It was a pretty morning and my hopes were high that I would be unseen. Ha. As we turned around and headed back towards our vehicle, a man appeared on the side of the path, waiting. I glared at my husband who shrugged. I ducked my head and tried not to make eye contact. “Excuse me,” said the man. “Would you mind letting me take your picture for the county trail association? We’re making a count of how many folks use the trail and may use the photo for promotional purposes.” My husband heartily consented to the photographs while I considered how many years in prison I’d have to spend for killing him.

Reminding myself to focus on blessing instead of irritations—as always, the best part of my day.