I had a post I was going to publish today about handsoap, but my heart was just not in it. It was a really draining emotional day yesterday and I had a moment where my husband and I were walking down the office supply aisle in Costco and I just lost it.
My husband looked at me and said, “You can’t cry in Costco!”
I stared at him for a moment as tears streaked down my cheeks and then I burst into bubbling giggles. The statement was so random. I loved the obscurity of it.
I collapsed in a nearby office chair in hysterics. Caught between tears and laughter, I laid my head back in the chair and closed my wet eyes. The chair moved. It was a swivel chair. This was the deciding factor. My tears stopped. I smiled. My kids went back to school this week and it has been rough. But my son’s favorite thing about his new school are the swivel chairs in one of his classrooms. I could see the appeal.
I put my foot on the floor and pushed a little. I did not remove my foot from the security of the ground. If tears are forbidden in Costco, then spinning must surely be frowned upon. However, who puts three perfectly good swivel chairs in the middle of an aisle if one does not want them to be tested out?
Being incapable of self control, I let go of my foot. I set it down, only to lift it up again and again. I spun faster and faster. Soon I was laughing. My husband looked at me caught between embarrassed horror and acceptance.
“Come on,” I said as I stood up. “Get in. You have to spin!”
He reluctantly sat in the chair, his arms only halfway resting on its surface as he hunched his shoulders in a crouch in case he got caught and had to get up quickly. I moved his arms so they were sitting in a position so that he was no longer a Golem-like statue. He slowly began to spin. Not much. He is not as arrestable cool as his wife. I clapped my hands in delight. He opened his mouth to speak. I could not wait to hear the happy review of fun that would pour from his dizzy lips.
“You know,” he started. “I use a swivel chair at work everyday.” This was not said in a bragging voice as one who makes a statement such as that should use. It was said in a blasé, this is not impressive at all to me tone.
I rolled my eyes and shook my head in disappointment.
“But do you spin?” I asked, all ready knowing the answer.
“No, but…”
I sat down in an opposite swivel chair, closed my eyes and ceased to listen. Then I got a dizzy high in Costco.
Because sometimes life is going to punch you in the stomach and make you fall down. But if it also generously provides you with a chair. A chair that spins. A safe place to not only fall, but to also momentarily escape the stifle of life. Then by golly, there is no other choice.
If your heart is heavy. If your stomach has dropped. If your soul has sagged to your toes. The only cure is to lift them up. The fastest way to do so is to spin as fast as you can. Do not stop until you feel all three negative sources dance together in a kaleidoscopic twirl of harmony.
Or you throw up.
Either way, it is a distraction.
It’s The Little Things: If you can’t cry in Costco, then surely you can laugh.
*Obvious disclosure: I cannot condone the spinning in Costco. Nor can I be held responsible for any accidents that may occur while doing so. If you choose to spin, please do so at your own risk. And kids don’t do anything I would do. It might result in you actually crying in Costco. And we can’t be having that.
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