A friend sent me the following joke. It's more than a joke. It's a message. It's a better message than a joke.

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A woman was at her hairdresser's getting her hair styled for a trip to Rome with her husband.

She mentioned the trip to the hairdresser, who responded: "Rome?

Why would anyone want to go there? It's crowded and dirty.

You're crazy to go to Rome. So, how are you getting there?"

"We're taking Continental," was the reply. "We got a great rate!"

"Continental?" exclaimed the hairdresser. "That's a terrible airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly, and they're always late. So, where are you staying in Rome?"

"We'll be at this exclusive little place over on Rome's Tiber River called Teste."

"Don't go any further. I know that place. Everybody thinks it's going to be something special and exclusive, but it's really a dump."

"We're going to go to see the Vatican and maybe get to see the Pope."

"That's rich," laughed the hairdresser. "You and a million other people trying to see him. He'll look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on this lousy trip of yours. You're going to need it."

A month later, the woman again came in for a hairdo. The hairdresser asked her about her trip to Rome.

"It was wonderful," explained the woman, "not only were we on time in one of Continental's brand new planes, but it was overbooked, and they bumped us up to first class. The food and wine were wonderful, and I had a handsome 28-year-old steward who waited on me hand and foot.. And the hotel was great! They'd just finished a $5 million remodeling job, and now it's a jewel, the finest hotel in the city. They, too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us their owner's suite at no extra charge!"

"Well," muttered the hairdresser, "that's all well and good, but I know you didn't get to see the Pope."

"Actually, we were quite lucky, because as we toured the Vatican, a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder, and explained that the Pope likes to meet some of the
visitors, and if I'd be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me. Sure enough, five minutes later, the Pope walked through the door and shook my hand! I knelt down and he spoke a few words to me.."

"Oh, really! What'd he say?"

He said: "Who fucked up your hair?"


****


Well, this might be more of a parable than a joke, but it reminded me of something that happened this past December while David and I were bustling about with last minutes errands.

There aren't a whole lot of places to bustle in Monteagle, but one early evening before Christmas, we were bustling around the local pharmacy. As we entered, I saw a man I know in the community. He didn't see me. Whew. I dodged down an aisle to escape discovery.

Now, I know that sounds mean-spirited and very un-Christmas-like, but I had my reasons. This man I spotted is a fount of negativity - it spews from his vocal chords, weeps from his pores, the very aura of air engulfing him is polluted with negativity. His negativity is a vortex that tries to suck in anyone nearby.

Even before my diagnosis I had trouble with this man. Oh, and btw, his wife is equally negative. I don't know how these people find each other, but thank God they do. Since my diagnosis, I really avoid this kind of crummy, chronic, invasive negativity. I can almost hear my lungs shouting at me to flee!

Well, I almost got away with my artful dodging and then he saw me. I hurled feigned surprise with pleasant greetings and then proceeded with the mindless chatter one usually does when colliding with someone while shopping - in this case, I lavished the moment with shameless hypocrisy.

Me: So how's Gladys doing?

Him: OOOOOO, she's much better now that she's in California visiting her son.

Me: That's nice and you?

Him: OOOOOO, my surgery could've gone better and I have new blah blah blah health issues, but I feel better now that I have another job.

Me: That's wonderful!

Him: OOOOOO, yeah but it's in Chattanooga and blah blah blah blah blah

Me: I understand that Chrissy has met a very nice man. (Chrissy lives with this couple for a variety of reasons)

Him: OOOOOO, but he doesn't have any money.

Me: (working hard to conceal my utmost disgust) But he seems so nice and she's so happy...

Him: OOOOOO, but he lives in Alabama and they don't see much of each other.

Me: (Trying to physically shrug off his negativity - I'm desperate now to hear him say ONE nice word) Well, I think it's so cool that Chrissy has lost a lot of weight!

Him: OOOOOO, yeah but she's reached a plateau and hasn't lost much recently.

Me: Well, Dick, (not his real name but seems appropriate), it was great seeing you. Merry Christmas!

***

I swear to you, I had to circumvent the razorblade aisle after that miserable encounter.

Important Coda We all get to gripe. God only knows how much you all have stood by me through truckloads of gripe. We all have moments when our health, finances, friends and neighbors, life in general, the weather, holidays, vanished dreams, lost horizons, broken compasses... when we feel let down and we gripe and weep and rage and wring our hands. But those moments pass and we generally bounce back. I can't think of one of us who relishes being a victim.

Then there are people like Dick who enjoy the wallow. They are absolutely passionate with their adoration of victimhood. It sucks and I loathe being sucked into it.

Anyway, that's my gripe for today. *LAUGHING*