It’s the front left wheel– but only in the rain. I’m pretty sure that’s where the squeak comes from. Well, and sometimes after it rains too. I think. I’m not entirely sure because I spend all the time that it squeaks hoping that it will stop squeaking and pretending that it’s not. It’s a loud squeak too. A squeak with character that demands to be heard over city hubbub.
I think it’s the front left wheel. I’m pretty sure it’s the front left wheel.
And so the last time it rained, here I am, walking to the elevator with Zoe in her mysteriously squeaky stroller, hoping very sincerely that the squeak will subside, and thinking, “There has got to be a metaphor here.”
Of course there is. There always is.
A friend said: “You should call customer service. I hear they’re really great. My friend called and they helped her figure out what was wrong and sent her a new wheel for free.”
And after this tip, ladies and gentlemen, what was my next immediate course of action?
Yes, yes. I continued to hope and wait.
After all, the rain stopped, the squeak subsided and the problem allowed me to continue shirking responsibility, though the threat of squeakiness looms over me, ever-present.
Of course there would be a metaphor. There always is.
In life how often do we shy away from relatively straight-forward solutions and pray that our woes and (as Dorothy might say) troubles will melt away like lemon drops? In how much persistent discomfort do we pay the price for this lazy and wishful thinking? Nah, I’ll choose not to address and deal with my anger and will instead remain slightly pissed off indefinitely. No, rather than ask for what I want I’ll continue blame everyone else for not reading my mind.
With a noisy weather-dependent stroller it may not seem a great inconvenience, but if something, anything, costs us our mental or emotional peace, are we really willing to pay that price?
Of course there’s a metaphor; there is always something to learn.