Dry hands, dry feet, dry lips, dry heart. Boy, can the winter sting. I learn over, groping for the chapstick I keep next to the bed but grab handfuls of nothing. Where is that darned thing…
Oliver. Gotta be Oliver. Borrows a tube of chapstick from me and it’s never seen again. Borrows the next one I find and before you know it we have an entire home utterly devoid of chapstick. Brutal, in this weather. How is it actually possible to lose eight tubes of chapstick in the span of three weeks, I ask you.
I turn to face him and shut my mouth as soon as I find it opening.
Wait. Think about this.
I can see it: a blog post about the huge fight I started over the missing the lip balm, the humorous and relatable story where I finally learn a valuable lesson at the end. But humorous not because of the lip balm, but my stupidity.
So what’s your call, chief? Are we going to have to start and end the fight, write about it, and then learn something? Or maybe could we just cut out the middle bit and learn the lesson now. After all, the point of describing your mistakes is to eventually get smarter.
Eight tubes of chapstick. About eight dollars in all. Yep, think I love my husband more than eight dollars worth. Who could lose eight tubes of chapstick in three weeks? My dear, sweet husband. And we can just file that one under Skills I Don’t Have, along with his patience and penchant for economics. I’d pay eight dollars to learn an important life lesson. I’d pay eight dollars to not start a fight.
And if I really could superglue my lip balm to his palm, ensure he never lost it, would I? Would I really take away that idiosyncrasy and make him that much more like me? Ehhh. Scary thoughts.
There’s an easy answer to that: no. What I’ll do is I’ll shut my mouth right now and in the future buy those huge value packs of chapstick from Costco.
And maybe keep one in my purse that I don’t loan out, because, man, my lips hurt.
By the way, if anyone wants to learn more about the principles I write about, you can find them here.