Dear Elli,
I had a really tough day today. It's my birthday, too, which is a total pisser.
My day ended with a situation that injured my pride in a way that doesn't happen very often. The details are pretty irrelevant, but let's just agree that I was hurt and totally pissed off.
So naturally I sulked and pouted and raged and even cried a little bit when I got home tonight. I try to be a really good sport in public, but I'm a total toddler sometimes at home. I can't help it.
You caught me crying as I tried to usher you into the shower quickly without seeing my face. But you saw me because I'm not really very good at hiding from you. And because you're nosy.
Of course, you were concerned. I'm not really much of a cryer. I usually make terrible faces and generally look hideous when I cry, so I try to avoid it most of the time. I totally wish I could be an elegant cryer. Like Demi Moore in "Ghost". But I'm really more like Jim Carrey in "Dumb and Dumber". Look it up. Not pretty.
We can move on now with the knowledge that you knew I was really upset because I looked like Jim Carrey in "Dumb and Dumber". And you asked me what was wrong. I kind of wanted to get all uppity and tell you how mad I was and how I didn't deserve such terrible treatment because I'm a freaking rock star and don't these people know who I am? A freaking gangster baller awesome specimen of a human being who performs at a superior level freaking ALWAYS, that's who!
That's kind of what I wanted to say because I was really mad and my ego was bruised and I was looking like Jim Carrey in "Dumb and Dumber".
But that was wrong. Because I'm not perfect at all. Even though I really want to be.
So I told you the truth instead. I told you that my feelings were hurt. And I told you that I was going to think really hard about how I was going to deal with it, without being nasty. I told you I was going to be totally A-okay. Because everybody has tough things to deal with sometimes, and today it was my turn. Then I stopped wallowing in my own self-pity and listened to you sing a song for me. (I still wanted to tell you how much I didn't deserve to be butthurt on my birthday. But I didn't, because I'm supposed to set a good example for you and that's totally not a good example.)
After I got you in the shower and hugged your daddy and sobbed for another five minutes, I reached out to some friends for advice. They basically told me I was being a butthurt Jim Carrey look-alike, too. And I agreed. Then I felt much better.
I guess the whole point of my story is that we all have our feelings hurt sometimes. And sometimes it really burns your ass like a fire ant in Florida. But it really doesn't matter how fair or unfair the situation may be. All that matters is how we react. It's okay to get all bent out of shape for awhile. But it's also important to take a few steps backward and figure out whether any of it really matters in the end. Most of the time it doesn't.
Pride is a really powerful emotion. And most of the time it's stupid. Especially when you let it ruin your birthday.
I love you.
Mom (The 35 year-old butthurt lady)
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