At least I have one.

I was on the phone with my sister-in-law a couple of days ago while walking around putting things away, straightening pillows… and not paying attention I rammed my left foot into a hard box… breaking one of my small toes in the process. Or jamming the thing… at this point my foot feels worse than the toe!

I yelled, of course. A lot. Then I told my sis that at least I had a toe to break. After we chuckled I wondered why I do that… when something bad happens to me I immediately count my blessings. Broken toe? At least I have toes! My truck breaks down? At least I own a vehicle; a lot of people have to walk!

A coping mechanism or something learned from childhood? Does it all go back to the Chinese kids? At least in my house, those poor Chinese children never had anything to eat, which is why I was forced to clean my plate each night. Guilt over people I didn’t know and their circumstances never made much sense when I was young, but it may have started the whole ‘at least I have’ nonsense.
That’s what it is, you know. I’m supposed to be grateful in the face of any and all experiences, good or bad.

I think the next time something untoward happens I’m just going to get pissed about it and see if I’m shuttled directly to the fifth level of hades. ‘Selfish person, line 3! Keep walking…! Take a left at the lava pit, go around the 10,000 kids scraping their fingernails on the 10,000 chalkboards and stop directly in front of your high school Spanish teacher; the one who wore red underwear under white slacks. Yeah, that’s the one…’

Maybe I’ll just be good. I’ll just sit here calmly, reading diet pill reviews until they come for me. LOL!