Washing Cars

I used all my happiness today. I’m really very sorry for that. It started off innocently enough, with just my normal amount of enthusiasm and unbridled joy. But it escalated too quickly with his agreeing to partake in mimosas early in the morning--just one of course. I’m afraid I was all smiles by 930.

We were going to wash the cars, so I put on my bathing suit and a pair of shorts. I was hoping to get wet. He grew sullen when I asked him if he enjoyed washing cars…like when I was a kid…he was a kid, I’m sure.

I tried really hard not to let it, but my happiness kept oozing out, seeping into his dry cracks. Soon, me being preoccupied, I forgot to listen to directions. Imagine. Someone needs directions to wash a car. I wasn’t doing it right.

The happiness now was running down my fingers and I smiled. The breeze was cool. He said it would be better to wash cars when it was cool. When the Florida sun didn’t bake our brains.

 I wanted to soak him with the hose and see if his lips would curve into a smile. I couldn’t have the hose. I didn’t do it right.

The water ran from my soapy cloth and down my ankles. I laughed. The happiness now became loud. I tried to hold it in. It was getting everywhere. It was certainly uncontained. I danced in the driveway. I wished for my sister. I wished for my youth. I wished to make someone, anyone, happy like me.

Soon my happiness was all over everything. It was rolling like waves down the driveway and into the street. What was I to do? Chase it? Today they counted 2,000 dead in the U.S. from Corona virus. You aren’t supposed to be happy when they do something like that, even if you forget about it. It’s mighty disrespectful to forget about it. I am forgetful.

Are you continuing to smile? I’ll give you something to cry about.

Do you deserve to be happy? You shouldn't complain-not now when there is so much to complain about! You make the best of it, just like the damn pioneers. You do your damn best, even if you don’t want to, just like your ancestors on the dairy farms. You get up and be happy you have cows to milk. Milk those mother-fucking cows, because if you don’t their udders will explode and you’ll be responsible. Then they’ll call you selfish over spilt milk and exploded cows.

Soon my happiness met the heavy backhand of misery and was pummeled into submission. Our President is Trump and no one is laughing. It’s not a joke.

Quietly, I agreed to make masks out of stuff they would have thrown away. Imagine that! What a noble thing to do. Maybe I can find more happiness behind my sewing machine. Am I being selfish by trying to find happiness by making masks on my sewing machine? I can't find any cows to milk here, and the cars are washed. It's a shame. I hardly even got wet.