WRONG!
I can admit when I am wrong. It ain't easy, but I can do it!
Like that time I fell for the guy in the horn-rimmed glasses in my philosophy class. He wore loafers and cardigans. He talked about existential dilemmas, moral realism, and whether or not the stupid chair his cute tushie sat on was real. He was sweet to me and we studied together often. "Maybe he likes me, too," I thought.
Nope. He liked David. The guy who sat behind me in class.
And speaking of that horrible class . . . "Kant and His Successors" was NOT for me. I can admit -- with a big fat "F" on my transcript -- that I was wrong, wrong, wrong to take it. (I can't do Kant, I can't!)
Other things I have been wrong about: Denim shirts, scrunchies, stirrup pants, The Backstreet Boys, blonde hair, tanning beds, and using hemp to make accessorizes. I have been wrong about bra sizes and date choices; over-tweezing eyebrows and back-talking my mother! And I was very, very wrong about McDreamy from Grey's Anatomy. I was certain -- dare I say, confident -- that he'd live on in medical notoriety in a fictional television state; removing brain tumors and making babies with Meredith. I did not think Shonda Rhimes would ever kill that fox off!
Earlier this week, I painfully (and shamefully) admitted to James that I was wrong about a purchase we made. At Toys R' Us. A kelly green, turtle shaped sandbox.
It was my idea to buy it. James was apprehensive from the beginning about the potential catastrophe it could cause our family. He looked into that turtle's smiling eyes and did not see magical, beachy fun. He saw havoc. Me? I was like, "Oh come ooooon...it will be sooooo fun for our kids."
I was wrong.
Something happens when we lift that turtle shell lid and expose all that silky-soft sand. It's like releasing the kraken. It's like opening Pandora's box. It's like being caught in a sand storm in the Sahara!
Bridget dumps sand in Cam's hair. He gets mad and shoves her. Bridget cries. Lilly is the project manager -- she bosses everyone around, telling them where they can put their buckets and how to most effectively build a sand castle. Cam destroys the sand castle. Lilly yells, "I hate you!" Cam hits her with his shovel. Bridget cries and dumps sand on Lilly's head. Lilly retaliates and dumps sand on Bridget's head. And on and on. No one, I repeat NO ONE, obeys my two rules of "Sandbox Fun." 1.) Keep the sand INSIDE the sandbox. 2.) Don't throw the sand!
Oh they throw the sand, people. They. Throw. The. Sand.
Are you able to admit when you are wrong? (It's a real skill!)
And would you like to have my sandbox?
Like that time I fell for the guy in the horn-rimmed glasses in my philosophy class. He wore loafers and cardigans. He talked about existential dilemmas, moral realism, and whether or not the stupid chair his cute tushie sat on was real. He was sweet to me and we studied together often. "Maybe he likes me, too," I thought.
Nope. He liked David. The guy who sat behind me in class.
And speaking of that horrible class . . . "Kant and His Successors" was NOT for me. I can admit -- with a big fat "F" on my transcript -- that I was wrong, wrong, wrong to take it. (I can't do Kant, I can't!)
Other things I have been wrong about: Denim shirts, scrunchies, stirrup pants, The Backstreet Boys, blonde hair, tanning beds, and using hemp to make accessorizes. I have been wrong about bra sizes and date choices; over-tweezing eyebrows and back-talking my mother! And I was very, very wrong about McDreamy from Grey's Anatomy. I was certain -- dare I say, confident -- that he'd live on in medical notoriety in a fictional television state; removing brain tumors and making babies with Meredith. I did not think Shonda Rhimes would ever kill that fox off!
Earlier this week, I painfully (and shamefully) admitted to James that I was wrong about a purchase we made. At Toys R' Us. A kelly green, turtle shaped sandbox.
It was my idea to buy it. James was apprehensive from the beginning about the potential catastrophe it could cause our family. He looked into that turtle's smiling eyes and did not see magical, beachy fun. He saw havoc. Me? I was like, "Oh come ooooon...it will be sooooo fun for our kids."
I was wrong.
Something happens when we lift that turtle shell lid and expose all that silky-soft sand. It's like releasing the kraken. It's like opening Pandora's box. It's like being caught in a sand storm in the Sahara!
Bridget dumps sand in Cam's hair. He gets mad and shoves her. Bridget cries. Lilly is the project manager -- she bosses everyone around, telling them where they can put their buckets and how to most effectively build a sand castle. Cam destroys the sand castle. Lilly yells, "I hate you!" Cam hits her with his shovel. Bridget cries and dumps sand on Lilly's head. Lilly retaliates and dumps sand on Bridget's head. And on and on. No one, I repeat NO ONE, obeys my two rules of "Sandbox Fun." 1.) Keep the sand INSIDE the sandbox. 2.) Don't throw the sand!
Oh they throw the sand, people. They. Throw. The. Sand.
Are you able to admit when you are wrong? (It's a real skill!)
And would you like to have my sandbox?
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