Rough morning. I hoped we would get breakfast, since last night there was only enough dinner for the kids. Now they’re forecasting a monsoon. The men have stricken out on a hunt, and today the rest of us will begin the two-day trek into the village for some grain—if they have lifted the embargo. I cried a little.
…Oh. Wait. That wasn’t MY rough morning…
Rough morning. I had to eat a granola bar from the outlet store; half of them don’t even have chocolate. Then I had a wardrobe nightmare, trying to find a shell that matched my maroon striped jacket. I have more debt than daylight, so today I’m working two jobs. I just hope I’m not late for my committee meeting. I cried a little.
A year ago I mentioned first-world problems. Yes, again a little perspective. I’m far from a fashion diva, but bemoaning not combining the right clothing ensemble? Seriously? (If the truth be told, the lowest common denominator was just not wanting to change out of my PJ’s.) Man, I’d need ten more posts just to list all that’s wrong with that!
So, out the door I headed—gathering my imported coffee, cellular phone, leather purse, and diamond ring. In the cool morning air, God gave me a moment to reflect. I thought about my momentary lapse—so many people have it so much worse. I said to myself, “I’m squishy.”
Well, then it was time to get going. My heart was right (and my blouse was pretty). I bid farewell to my cozy PJ’s, somewhat humbled—with the added bonus of a fun giggle from “Finding Nemo”: “I shall call you squishy, and you shall be mine, and you shall be my squishy.”