Tuesday, September 8, 2015

Toothpicks Matter

Well it's after Labor Day so summer stuff is cheap now. Time to shop for that beach vacation I'll be going on in just a few years. Found this cute suit for $11 which might actually look good on my stick figure even though the boobs don't come with it. Guess what? It doesn't come in small. Third time I've found a great deal on something but doesn't come in my size. Who do I call or contact? This has to stop. "Toothpicks Matter"

That  was my latest status update on Facebook (or as Massey says Oldstersbook) tonight.

I got off the computer and cleaned house for an hour or so after posting. I stopped to switch the laundry. The laundry room is right outside Massey's bedroom door so randomly asked if she thought my post would get bashed for seeming flippant about things.

She didn't even stop or look up from her homework, just said with raised eyebrows "Probably...it's Facebook."

Here's what I actually meant (albeit metaphorically) and stand by it.

This sums up not only the way I was raised but who I am today:

So toothpicks matter? 

Yes they do, and mean not only the wooden but plastic ones too. I mean the plastic ones that look like little swords. I also mean the round ones and the flat ones. Don't forget the ones that have little umbrellas on  them or frilly cellophane tassels. I include the colored ones as well as the neutral ones. I also mean the sometimes deformed plastic swords (always a few in the box) and broken wooden ones rolling around the bottom of the box, which will probably get tossed out as trash and never used for their intended purpose.

It doesn't matter who you are or what you look like or what you do. It doesn't matter what you have or what you don't have and certainly doesn't matter if you're flawed or imperfect. It doesn't matter if you're  broken or even useless.

Toothpicks matter.

We (meaning) each and every single living being are just toothpicks in a box called life and we ALL matter.

Til next time, COTTON

PS sorry about the weird font, happened when I copied my FB status and Massey is already in bed. Guess I am an Oldster!

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