It’s okay to acknowledge when things haven’t worked out exactly as you might have hoped or imagined. Lessons learned.
“As early as September 2015, I wrote that Mr. Trump was ‘the most serious candidate in the race.’ … It is now clear that my optimism was unfounded.”
—“I Voted for Trump. And I Sorely Regret It.” The New York Times, August 17, 2017
I have always been the kind of person who insists that the glass is half full. Even when it is empty. Also, when it is not a glass at all but a rusty, weeping, World War I mustard gas grenade that I use to stir my famous three-alarm chili because I have had enough with the entrenched wooden spoon establishment. So far so good!
My wife, Connie, and I recently decided to get a pet. Naturally we did not want to support Planned Puppyhood, as we cleverly call the Humane Society on our cardboard signage. Instead, we drove out to the county landfill, which is popular with animals who, like us, prefer freedom over vaccines. We were immediately greeted by a very enthusiastic raccoon whose wild eyes and frothing mouth we found refreshingly disdainful of business as usual.
Connie—dear, careful Connie—did ask if I maybe wanted to look up rabies on InfoWars.com. But she adheres to my authority with biblical fidelity when it comes to animals with exceptionally sharp teeth and, as I have had occasion to mention, I am the kind of person who insists that the glass is half full. Even when it is a raccoon. The frothing, I assured her, was incidental, a colorful quirk, and would not impact the animal’s policy in our home.
The raccoon is not, as many believe, some kind of dog, rodent, or bear. It belongs to the family of procyonids (comprising also kinkajous, cacomistles, and the like). Because raccoons thus have so much in common with us humans, i.e. in terms of not being dogs or rodents or indeed bears, it was self-evident that by appealing to the animal’s reason I could breezily guide it toward its untested potential for snuggling and away from any evident tendency to maul.
It is now clear that my optimism was unfounded. As I said to Connie in the emergency room.
I am the kind of person who insists that the glass is half full. Even when it is a raccoon.
Which reminds me of my subsequent visit to the emergency room. It is now clear that my optimism about Sunny Chainsaw Day Care was also unfounded. Hey. Live and learn.
All of which brings me to today’s visit to the emergency room. Connie and I had been remodeling our bathroom, upgrading from gold-tone fixtures to actual fake gold. We’d had to fire our plumber, a Mr. Trabajador de Dia, when we discovered he had hatched a terrorist plot to expect payment for his labor. I searched for a replacement on Thyneighborsads (which is like Craigslist for showering churchgoers). Most of the listings were too illegal-immigranty, but one really stuck out. “Morbidly bloated white male sociopath with fully American hairpiece seeks human toilet,” it began. This was promising! But I needed to verify that he had the qualifications to install a high-flow double commode with fake gold flush handle. I read on with interest. “I will squat over you and crap into your open mouth,” it continued.
Sure, some of my golf buddies observed that while this listing was refreshingly free of deep-state, open-border plumbing-regulatory rhetoric, it was maybe a little vague on actual plumbing solutions. Furthermore, they argued, the wording left open the possibility, however remote, that the man intended to squat over me and crap into my open mouth. Pish, said I! Obviously, that’s just a refreshingly colorful way of clearing away the technocratic fog and connecting with my need to be heard as a marginalized layperson angry and confused as to why my bathroom doesn’t work.
It is now clear that my optimism was unfounded. As I have said time and again to Connie in the emergency room.