Each day, my beloved takes our two dogs for a lovely long walk in the park across the street from our casa. If I’m not breathing last night’s tequila, I occasionally tag along. A good stretch of it is off-leash, so the dogs can frolic and run and burn off a bunch of energy. Energy that would otherwise manifest itself in the destruction of various household items and furniture.
It’s a nice park, full of nice people walking the dog. Everyone greets everyone else, says “hello” and “oh, isn’t your dog adorable.” “No, YOURS is!” “No, yours!”
You get the picture.
But every once in awhile, you pass someone and say good morning and they don’t reciprocate. Now, sure, maybe they just had a death in the family or their bunions are acting up, or their migas just aren’t sitting right. But would it fuckin’ kill you to smile and nod? I mean, seriously. The other day, this older woman looked as if it was taking every ounce of energy she had just to sort of scrunch her mouth when we said “good morning.” It was like she was completely incapable of expressing pleasure. Or politeness.
It’s not going to make your day any worse to acknowledge a pleasantry with one of your own. In fact it might make it better.
So I ran after her and kicked her really hard in the ass.
“I SAID ‘good morning.’” Maybe next time, she’ll be a little more sociable.