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He Decides What I Want
Thanks for doing what you decided I wanted
I ordered cat food from Wal-Mart. (Wal-Mart had independently rejoined the Paris accord a few years ago, giving me superficial permission to buy goods at prices that are clearly exploitative. I’m not proud, but it happened.)
The cat food arrived.
He told me there was a delivery from Wal-Mart.
I said “I’ll get it.”
He brought it in for me anyway.
How nice.
I love sparkling water. It probably happened when I was in Rome a long time ago. It was hot and the Pellegrino was cold and delightful. I’ve been keeping LaCroix in business for a while now. I don’t like regular water any more, and with that, I’ve officially conquered the mountain of first world problems.
Gazing upon my twelve boxes of assorted flavors, he said “I’ll bring it to the downstairs pantry.”
I said “No, don’t. I need to get stairs on my Fitbit. I’ll do it. Thanks.”
He brought all twelve boxes downstairs anyway.
How nice?
My car had a ding in it. It still drove fine; the headlights were fine. It just had a dent. I was officially blowing it off completely. Insurance is boring. Car repair is boring. It just wasn’t a big…
