Selling Christmas Trees

Sometimes I think of my life as a sitcom.  (I wonder what my character would be like... would people who watch identify with me or just be annoyed?)  

So tonight in true sitcom actress fashion, I sank into the couch with my licorice tea when the door bell rang.  Please note: we have a doorbell at our front and back door- it's the same bell.  Same sound.  Not a thoughtful installation on our part.  The doorbell drives our dog crazy but, I should clarify, our dog is more crazy than a normal crazy dog.  She doesn't know what door to go to so she mostly just runs around in haphazard circles and barks incessantly every time someone is at our door.  So today, the doorbell rang, the dog barked, and after about 5 crazy dog barking circles, she ran into me (she can't see very well either) and flopped to the floor.  Thump.  

At the door was a 5 year old boy scout. (Well...I actually have no idea what age he was, I can't tell the difference in age of elementary school kids anymore.  (I don't know why i said 'anymore'.  I never could tell)  The boy might have been 10 and I just had no idea. Cue canned sitcom laugher.) Despite his age, he was one of the cutest kids I've seen in a while. I think he was selling Christmas trees.  (Cue more laughter for inability to tell age plus inability to hear what he said.) I politely said no thanks and didn't feel any guilt about it- for the most part.  

After recapping the story to Brandon when he got home, I quickly realized, the boy scout probably wasn't selling trees and stingy me turned him away.  And Brandon reinforced what I already kind of know, that all of the neighborhood kids will start making sure Brandon's home to answer the door instead of me.  Higher return.  Sorry christmas-tree-selling-5-year-old, i've never liked door to door sales people. 

I don't like the less-flexible part of myself either.  I don't think we're designed to be stiff robots with no bendable parts.  As I've let myself relax a little bit, I've found that the beauty of life is actually in some of the organic relationships that only happen when flexibility dominates.  I know the doorbell interrupting my quiet time is a stretch illustration (cue Cosmo Kramer bursting through the door).  I'm learning that one of my favorite things is that moments don't need scheduled.    


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