When Semis Block the Sun

In spite of my cynical and sarcastic nature, I am a born optimist. It comes from being born to two of the most cheerful people in the world.

When I say, “They woke up singing.” I am not speaking figuratively.

Brett, on the other hand, is a kind and thoughtful person who is a pessimist by nature.

In other words, while I know people are nasty, evil creatures out to get you, I don’t mind all that much. Brett sees the best in people and often (most often) they disappoint him, and he lives perpetually wounded by the unseen, uncaring slight of others.

That said, my occasional spurt of optimism can be a little annoying to my husband. He calls it my Pollyanna nature.

You know Pollyanna, don’t you? That wonderfully, perky heroine played by Haley Mills? I LOVED that movie as a kid. Loved it. Loved it. Loved it.

I wanted to BE Pollyanna (well, at least until she broke both her legs and went all manic-depressive). I even made a promise to my ten year old self that I would name my first born (a girl, to be sure) Pollyanna.

I’ve passed by Pollyanna as a possible name for my eventual little ones, but I still love the movie and the feelings the Pollyanna name evoke.

I say all this to tell you a little story about this past Sunday.

We were on our way to Sunday School and running a few minutes late. Brett wanted to stop for a mocha at Starbucks, and I thought we could swing it and still get to Sunday School a few minutes late.

Well, we got the coffee, and I ordered an oatmeal cookie. Now, if YOU saw something advertised as an “Oatmeal Cookie,” what would YOU think? I assume you would, as I did, think you were going to get an actual oatmeal cookie.

Imagine my surprise when I opened my oatmeal cookie bag and saw a big cookie with oatmeal in it and squishy bugs sprinkled on top.

Okay, okay, they weren’t squishy bugs - they were raisins. But when you hate raisins as much as I do, squishy bugs would be comparable.

Why didn’t the sign say, “Oatmeal Raisin Cooke?” Because that was (indeed) what it was.

There are two kinds of people in this world.

People who recognize raisins as the nasty, shriveled up, bordering-on-past-spoiled-fruit resembling squishy bugs that you would normally kill, ball up in a tissue and throw away in the furthest trash can possible.

And those people who eat said resembling squishy bugs and still manage to keep living, or (to be concise) raisin lovers.

I am not (if you couldn’t tell) a raisin aficionado.

So, I asked the lady (over Brett’s get-over-it-they’re-just-raisins-I-can’t-believe-you’re doing-this unflinching stare) if they had any other cookies as “The sign didn’t say anything about (disgusting look on my face) raisins.”

To her credit, our cheerful Starbucks lady offered to get me a chocolate chip cookie, told us to keep the oatmeal-ish cookie, and probably went back to her station wishing she’d spit in my husband’s mocha when she’d had the chance.

That little exchange cost us a few minutes more, and my husband had to *cough* make up time *cough* on the road.

Only there were multiple semis in both lanes of traffic.

I could almost SEE the steam rising out of Brett’s ears (as I happily munched on my raisin-free chocolate chip cookie).

“I hate these semis,” he told me. “Is there anything good about semis?” He loves to challenge me.

I squinted at the hot sun for a second before it was eclipsed by a speeding semi a foot from my door.

I smiled at him. “At least, they block the sun.”

“Thank you, Pollyanna,” he retorted. But I saw him visibly relax and lean back a little more in the now (thanks to our neighboring semi) shaded drivers’ seat.

So, in a way, I guess I get to live my childhood dream, one Pollyanna saying at a time.

Now, time to play the Glad Game! Anything good about raisins? No? Oh well! I guess even this Pollyanna has her limits.