It's a late night at Miller Nichols library. There's an older gentleman here sitting by me who has been on his phone for 48 minutes now. He's complaining to a friend about some situation in the community. I know the main floor of this library is not labeled a "quiet zone", but come on now. Forty eight minutes of audible complaining? Who can stand it?
I must make sure I have a constant stream of music playing in my ears or I'll have a conniption.
This song just played on my shuffle.Once, almost three years ago, I flew to Florida in the summer to visit my family. I was wearing this outfit:
I thought I looked cute. I thought I looked SO cute. My mom and sister pulled up outside of baggage claim and picked me up. I was so excited to see them, especially in my cute outfit. Those two arrived in a silly mood and spent exactly 4 seconds greeting me with hugs and the next 2 minutes exclaiming over how disjointed my outfit was.
"The colors don't match! What is HAPPENING with that necklace? Since when do you have those bangs? Is this how they dress in Kansas City? Bethany, really, what's going on here?"
I tried to explain myself for a little bit, but I got my feelings hurt pretty early and gave up. I told them I didn't want to hear another word of opinion about my outfit and plugged my pink iPod mini into the car stereo, picked this song, and turned the volume up.
There was awkward silence for 58 seconds.
Then Deb Talan sang "I don't give a damn. I'm happy as a clam. Nobody knows me at all".
And then the three of us just died laughing in that car. We laughed so hard we cried.
The air smelled like ocean and we wiped away salty tears from our faces and flew down a sunny interstate lined with palm trees.