Dog Poop and Rose-Colored Glasses

On some days, and in some situations, I really want to put on rose-colored glasses. I imagine life would look better. Remember BluBlocker sunglasses? They made everything appear Kodachrome-like. I’d like to have a day just like that. I imagine I’d walk around all day with a shitty grin on my face. I would probably appear high, but in truth, I’d be under the influence of nothing other than the joy derived from a perfect rosy day. And, if I was wearing contacts instead of glasses, no one would even know how intentionally ignorant I was in creating my blissful rosy world.

That thought crossed my mind last Monday. A person threw a wrench into my plans last weekend.  My first mistake was having plans that equate to expectations. The interruption was out of my control, and I was foolhardy to take it as a personal injury. I was disappointed with the way I responded. I was pretty small. I wanted to undo my passive-aggressive behavior. To have been just a little more cool, a little more empathetic.

Oh, to live a life without regret! To never wake up and play the Monday morning quarterback. Hindsight clearly makes our vision 20/20. Enhance that vision with rose-colored glasses or contacts and life would always be happy and gay. And while that sounds ideal, life would become rather monotonous.

For example, take today. We need gray, rainy Mondays for without them we’d never appreciate the brilliant, sunny days. Yesterday, a winter thaw set in, the melted snow uncovered a shit ton of landmines in my backyard. Rose-colored glasses would neither camouflage dozens of newly revealed dog poops or mask their smell. When I came in from outside after picking up the poop I ran right to the wash tub to scrub my hands. Bridget asked me why it smelled like shit, to which I replied, “that would be coming from me, your mother, who just picked up 100 pounds of dogs it.” She grimaced and ran as quickly as she could, for fear that I assign her to the poop patrol. Yesterday’s role as the shit picker-upper was shitty for sure. Would I trade in my poop patrol badge for a life without three dogs? Not a chance.

We need the past and future to appreciate the present, and the shitty days, dog poops and all, to revel in the glorious ones. Seeing life play out in rose-colored glasses is a novel idea, but we’d miss all the shade of gray.





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