A Stepford Kind Of Love

A Stepford Kind Of Love

A Stepford Kind Of Love

That very morning I received a text from a friend in despair, who is being bullied at work.

That morning that I gave the super zen all-embracing, all-loving advice:

“Take deep breaths, remember why you are important, and do a Love-Sending-Meditation for that sad gossipy lady. Put out positive energy. Surround her with it. Surround yourself with it.”

Later that very same day:

I’m wrestling my bags out of the back seat of the car.

The passenger in the other car opens his door and leans out, screaming at me,

“Why did you stop in the middle of the road when there’s a parking spot right over there?!?!”

He points up the street a few cars lengths.

“Because, ” I laugh,

“My ride’s not staying, and you weren’t there when she stopped”

I stayed polite only because it honestly didn’t even dawn on me that waiting 1 1/2 seconds would truly anger somebody to the point of rage,

Like his shouty question was out of mere interest or curiosity.


He asked, spraying venom spittle from his chapped and angry lips.

“Yes!” I beamed, “And have a great day!” I added, smiling radiantly, the biggest smile that could fit on my little face, eyes twinkling like stars, hand cupped and waving like a Stepford wife.

“YOU TOO!!!!?”

He shrieked hatefully at me, before closing the door of the car, and driving a couple of car lengths up, to park in that parking spot right over there.

Here’s the thing.

I have a really hard time being happy in general. I work at it. I work hard.

And most of the time, no matter how hard I try, I fail.

So on the off the day, when things are going pretty great,

like a day that starts with my espresso machine running smoothly, instead of spitting hot steam and coffee grounds into my face

– a day when I managed to run a full 35 minutes on the treadmill without falling off of it, or choking on my own spit. To death.

– a day when I go over to the St Hubert street plaza and find all the fabric and notions that I’m looking for, in under an hour, for not one


but TWO

extra awesome upcoming sewing projects.

– a day that I don’t get one single text or phone call informing me that one, two, or all three of my children have been evicted, hospitalized, institutionalized, and/or imprisoned

– On a day that I get to have a dinner date with a really cute girl, at Hwang Kum, for some warm sake and the BEST vegan bimbimbap ever

On that day, I just can’t let a sad and silly man, even if he is in apparent dire URGENTneed to park his car RIGHT NOW, get me down.

But I can give him a little love. Even if it’s the Stepford kind of love.

It’s easier than sounds, and feels really good.

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