Counting

 

You never know what the day will bring.

I woke up with a long to-do list and ended up charging $1200 to the plumber, who, coincidentally, is the reigning Mr. Utah these last three years. (Imagine a fridge with a head.) Forget augers and power-jetting...we discussed the correct post-workout protein-to-carb ratio.

Hours later out on retail errands I was rendered unfunctionable by my waffling between pricey salon texturizing spray or cheap John Frieda spray. I chose the cheap stuff because we all know my hairs are as thin as they come and salon or not spray is not going to disguise them. Then I chose generic ranch dressing over namebrand. I saved myself $14.40 which ended up being 1.2% of today's plumbing bill. If I just do this 99 more times then today never happened. I couldn't write off the entire day to pipe issues so I sat down and sewed four fabric yo-yos (also called "rosettes") before I took my 8:20 p.m. shower.

Some days are like this.

I was weary of counting. Counting dollars. Counting calories. Counting minutes until pick-up from school. Counting flaws. Counting it all. I wanted to let loose.

PLAN A FOR LETTING LOOSE: Order everything on my Amazon wishlist, eat a Torpedo at Bruges Waffles & Frites, take a nap and a get a massage for three consecutive days until my stubborn scalenes and rhomboids SHUT UP.

This is no kind of attitude for success. 

I settled for PLAN B: a second-dose-in-four-days blueberry cheesecake custard at Culver's with an old friend. We spent one hour and 41 minutes eating our one scoop of custard, not that I'm counting. I realized when I arrived home full-bellied and full of laughing endorphins that with all this counting I forgot to count my blessings.