Things That Perplex Me
I have random thoughts that just come…kinda like finding a penny on a walk around the block and thinking, “This is valuable! King Soopers doesn’t even give these out anymore at the store when they give you your change.”
Random…momentary light bulbs with suspect wattage.
Like…the email I got today from Red Lobster informing me that “Endless Shrimp Would be Ending Soon!” How does something that is endless…end?
Here’s another thought that came to me last week as I watched a vehicle change lanes back and forth like the road was a slalom course. “I wonder if he changes churches that quickly; doesn’t like something in this place so he hops to the next building, and then the next, and then the next.” Lane hoppers are like church hoppers. They can’t stay the course.
Or what about the screaming kid in the grocery store, who is pushing his parent to buy that bag of candy? Why doesn’t my wife let me have what I want when I scream, fall to the ground, and kick my feet? Why does she just walk away and leave me there?
Why has my mailbox been filled with political postcards that hammer away at the evil, out-of-touch, under-qualified, overly arrogant person who is running for some elected position, while whoever sent the postcard appears in an almost angelic pose?
And… why do I get the same postcard again the next day? Are the senders trying to say something about my memory?
Whose bright idea was it to allow motorcycles to come up between two lanes at a stoplight? They are the new entitled citizens, as they sprint from the light and zoom away from us poor vehicle-driving smucks.
And now we have e-bikes that are going 30 miles an hour…on the sidewalk, passing poor Mildred, trying to take her poodle for a walk. Pretty soon, pedestrians will be walking on the grass like it’s the normal thing to do.
Why do my knees ache every time I come down the stairs in the morning…and my hips…and my lower back…and my toes…and…
Why do I feel guilty if I don’t leave a tip for the pimply-faced sixteen-year-old at the fast food establishment even after a third of my three-item order never made it into the bag? Is it my lifelong existence in Baptist congregations that causes the guilt response of a twenty percent tip?
If I decided to get a full-sleeve tattoo on my left arm, would I still be able to see the goosebumps? (I’m not, in case you’re wondering! I can barely endure my four-year-old grandson putting a sticker on the back of my hand!)
Why do ripped jeans cost more?
Why does the entertainment industry, more often than not, portray clergy persons (pastors and preachers) as doofuses, allergic to laughter, and not people you would want to have conversations with?
Random thoughts. I can’t help it. Hey! There goes a squirrel! I wonder if squirrels work eight-hour shifts and then go home to their squirrel recliners? I wonder if squirrels leave a tip for other squirrels?
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