Lead me not into temptation…
You can thank me later: I have done the world (or, at least, my little corner of it) a monumental favor: I did not buy that super-cute Sharpie-on-a-Keyring I saw in the check out lane at Hobby Lobby. (People, they had ORANGE ones!) If you realized the catastrophes and wars I have prevented by this seemingly insignificant display of self-control, you would be sending me bouquets of daisies and hand-written (with a Sharpie, I’m sure) thank-you notes. I’m sure I’d get at least one or two nominations for a Nobel Peace Prize.
It was a tough call: this is an idea whose time has come-the portable Sharpie has a myriad of uses. Just yesterday, I was wishing I had that little thing when the only parking place at the outlet mall was half eaten by a mammoth F-150, who had already one-gulped his own parking place. I’m sure you’ll agree that a short and sweet “Learn to park” written in a fluid gentle script along the driver’s side door would have certainly been in order.
At the grocery, that handy-dandy little Sharpie would be nearly as beneficial as the stupid little store loyalty card I have on my key-ring. A firmly printed “Quit moving <censored bowling-word> around” would dang near benefit all mankind.
Don’t listen to these people.
My relationships with various family and friends would be permanently changed with some well-meaning but fruitless attempts at honest and undiluted communication. For instance, drawing my husband an informative map to the laundry hamper might not achieve the desired effect. Writing “Brush your stinking teeth” on my son’s forehead as a helpful reminder might not be considered Dr. Dobson-approved parenting. A nice note on the bathroom wall pointing to the towel rack (“Feel free to hang towels here”) probably wouldn’t further my efforts at getting my own HGTV show. Other thoughtful hints like “Admit it, you’re old. Buy a dang hearing aid“ should probably be kept to myself.
They look innocent enough…
Having access to a Sharpie-on-a-Keyring while watching tv would be an economic disaster that would require a governmental bailout the president just can’t afford right now because I would be powerless to stop myself from violently scribbling out Bill O’Reilly’s nasty talking head every night. And then, if I had that little thing while watching football on the weekends, well… Who can afford to replace their television every day?
Those poor kids at the mall probably would not appreciate my free fashion tips written on the wall of the women’s restroom. “Pajamas are for sleeping not shopping” is a truth that needs national attention. Also, “The butt is not a billboard“, while seemingly obvious, is a fact that they are no longer teaching the yutes of America in the public schools.
Danger, Will Robinson!
The waiter at the restaurant the other day could have really used a bit of Sharpie constructive criticism: “Do the world a favor, buy a watch. And get your eyes examined. And don’t worry about spilling that lasagna in my lap. I didn’t get burned: it was cold.”
If I had bought the Sharpie-on-a-keyring, I’d be forced to do some drive-by-Sharpie-ing. At Chuck E. Cheese, for instance, a polite “Please, for the love of God, burn this place down” is certainly in order. I’m certain all of you parents will agree. A public service announcement is desperately needed at Taco Bell: “Not Mexican Food.”
Don’t do it. Be strong.
I stood in line there at Hobby Lobby as gentle hymns played over the intercom system weighing the pros and cons. To buy or not to buy…. After realizing that I was neither mature enough nor self-disciplined enough to have instant access to a Sharpie-on-a-Keyring, I, ladies and gentlemen, did The Right Thing. I walked away. People should not be allowed access to such dangerously permanent vehicles of self expression. Good night, Irene, blogging is bad enough. With a deep sigh and an odd feeling that normal people refer to as “personal growth”, I walked out of the store, Sharpie-less.
I walked through the automatic sliding doors into the sunshine feeling like a real-live grown-up. After hiking for a half a mile, I found my car and sighed. As I squeezed my scrawny size-two self in between my sweet little old twentieth-century Lincoln Continental and the huge yellow Hummer that had senselessly invaded my car’s personal space (there are Lines for Pete’s sake!), I pulled out my Sharpie-less key ring and almost ran back into the store just so I could come back out and write in huge black block letters, “Move your car.”
Sigh…