If You Can't Say Anything Nice...

You’re trying, so very, very hard, to just let people look the way they look and not to comment in any way shape or form about their odd shapes and forms. You’ve done it your entire speaking life and you worry now that it has righteously screwed your Karma. Not that you ever said anything aloud, to anybodies face—that’s just plain rude. But isn’t thinking just as bad as doing? It was with adultery. Anyway, you’re hoping that this new leaf of kindness you’re trying so desperately to turn over will set things right with the Universe, and that the sunshine of success might finally warm your weary backside. Then the teller at your bank looks like this…

                                               

 

…only, with makeup, and the strong possibility of being related to Fernando Valenzuela.

     How in the hell can you ignore this?

     You can’t!

     You won’t!

     Fuck Karma! You say, handing the teller your deposit. This woman looks exactly like Mr. Toad, for god’s sake!

     You go on, as Mrs. Toad processes your transaction, scrutinizing the details of her downturned mouth, bulbous eyes and complete lack of neck, trying to convince yourself that it’s your job… sort of… to notice things like this, your duty, for crying out loud, to write about it. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, you tell yourself. Take advantage of it! You don’t have to mention any names, you say. It will make people laugh! And laughter, after all, is the best medicine! I can heal the World’s woes with my satire! You exclaim, almost out loud. Karma should be grateful!

     “Can I do anything else for you today?” the teller asks, and you find yourself wishing for a juicy, green fly to circle her head, once, twice, three times, but that’s as good as looking a gift-horse in the mouth, now isn’t it, so you stop this greedy thinking and say, “No… no… that’s all,” and you thank her, because after all, she has made you very rich indeed.