World Class Empathy

I’m not bragging, but I have a rather large capacity for empathy. Is it greater than yours? Maybe. Do you empathize with waiters of demanding people? Homeless folks in winter? NFL kickers who blow a win? Me, too; that’s child’s play.

Do you empathize with a candle’s life who was cut short because of your faulty wicking abilities? Do you feel bad when—because of your mistakes—a recipe goes awry and has no future with your family? Do you feel sorry for the rarely used Kelvin filter on Instagram? Does your heart ache for the remote control batteries who’ve performed flawlessly for six months, and who are now being thrown (with force) into the trash, while being called hurtful names? Nah, didn’t think so.

Most of you know I Talk To Fruit (and a good many of you do, too), so none of this should be too shocking. Let’s rip off that bandage.

I feel bad for my clothes and shoes that never get to go on vacations. I worry that the chosen ones act haughty in the closet or drawers when I’m not around, “Hey, Old Tee, have fun working in the yard today? *snicker* Hey, Old Jeans, how was that quick run to Kroger for the forgotten tortillas? *snort* Hey Too-Big College Sweatshirt, have fun painting? *high-fives vacation tee buddy* What—you don’t want to ask me if we had fun in Italy? Nope, you’re good?”

I hope this doesn’t happen, but I worry that it does. If I think too much about any of the lucky pieces acting superior when I’m not around, then I start fixating on ways to keep them separate—maybe some zoning in the closet to cut down on intermingling? I know the ones left behind don’t think life is fair. I know they wonder why they have to clean the pool filter and go up in the attic. Most of them have had their time in the sun, and been able to get out-and-about at some point in their lives, but I still worry about their self esteem.

Side Note: Now I’m wondering if my work clothes exude an air of importance, too. If I hear as much as a whisper about it, I’ll march them straight out to the garden and dig up an old potato. Don’t test me, Dress Clothes—don’t.test.me.

BBQ. Even though it’s loved by millions, I wonder if it fixates on the few of us who don’t care for it? Does my ambivalence towards ribs and barbecue sauce and potato salad bring it down and make it question its very existence? I feel like I need to show it some love occasionally, so its insecurities or possible feelings of unworthiness aren’t on my conscience. I want BBQ to enjoy its massive fan base, but I feel like maybe it can’t fully immerse itself in congratulatory gaiety because it knows I’m out there … never even considering it an option.

Harry feels the way I do.

Harry feels the way I do.

When I see a lady’s bra strap twisted on her back, I want to fix it. When I see a belt loop that’s been missed on a guy’s pants, I want to tell him. When I see the clasp on someone’s necklace butted up against the charm, I want to point it out. Why? Because all these things want to be pretty and do their job—and by no fault of their own, they instead, spend the day off their game. It’s especially unbearable if they see me see them in disarray, and watch me walk away. I worry about the message that sends them in regards to their importance in this life.

Side Note: I have a confession that doesn’t align with the previous confession. I’m very reluctant to I don’t tell people when they have something in their teeth or in their nose. I know, I know—lower your voice. I’ll answer your questions calmly. 1. No, I don’t want you spending the day like that. 2. Yes, I’d want to know. 3. No, I don’t think it’s OK to say nothing, but that’s what I’m going to do.

kwiig teeth

Oh hey Kristin, you have … there’s … you have … such kind eyes.

I feel bad for things that do such a good job—such a solid, thankless job—and because they’re not flashy, they go unnoticed … until, that is, they don’t do their job.

Think of the anger directed at such priceless items like water heaters, washers, dryers, refrigerators and car batteries. It’s shameful the names they’re called once they meet their Maker. A sorry S.O.B. and a stupid P.O.S. Where was the praise for their solid performance hour after hour, day after day? Did you offer even one ‘attaboy along the way, when it functioned a thousand times without incident?

How about your body? You love your pretty eyes and strong forearms, but have you admired your kidneys lately? No. Revered your thyroid? Doubtful.

Imagine a few hard-working bodies meeting up for a beer after their owners are asleep. Every part is sitting around, exhausted from putting in their thankless time for the 7000 day? 18,000th day?

Head: So how was everyone’s day?
Chorus: Eh, pretty good.
Brain: I’m wiped out. Tina worked 18 hours today while taking calls from Jake’s school, because he put bugs in Sadie’s pencil box—so she was all over the place mentally, and is barely asleep now, so keep it down.
Butt: Laney talked shit about me all day—no pun intended. She tried to squeeze into some jeans from last year, and then talked bad about me to every friend who would listen. It really bummed me out.
Eyes: Waa-waa, Michael’s been talking smack on me since he turned 40 in April.
Retina: (interrupting) Shut up beautiful Caramel Eyes, he’s not talking bad about YOU, he’s talking bad about ME. You get complimented almost daily. It’s me he’s treating like crap, because he needs reading glasses.
Lips: I guess I should count myself among the lucky, Bette seems to like me. She keeps me hydrated and lets me in on all the gossip. And best of all, she ditched her boyfriend with the constant stubble—I hated that lumberjack.
Hands: Pretty good day. I was cold a lot—couldn’t seem to shake the chill, but all in all I had a good day.
Liver: Hey guys, I can only stay a minute; I’ll be working overtime tonight. Maddie went to happy hour and got into some tequila, so I’ve got my work cut out for me.
Sphincter: Dani just doesn’t get it. She was taking a Buzzfeed quiz today and it asked what body part was her favorite and she said her lips. Guys! She said her lips! She never gave me a second thought—I wasn’t even in the running! That’s a girl who just doesn’t understand basic biology. You wait, one day, when I’m in a bad mood, I’m gonna show her once and for all why answering anything other than sphincter is a bad, bad move.
Heart, Lungs, Large Intestine: Chill out Sphinc, we’re way ahead of ya. You are truly important, but we’re vital and Chris has never once talked about us like he talks about his pecks and calves. You just have to get over it.

causeapplause

Fanny packs. The one and only thing wrong with fanny packs is their name. It saddens me that these poor, handy bags had their life cut short because of a detrimental naming mistake. I feel just as badly for me as I do for them. Imagine if that convenient delight had a cool name like “hip sling.” They’d still be enjoying the limelight, and we’d still be enjoying a life with both arms and hands.

I don’t know a single girl who doesn’t wish it was acceptable and cool at certain times to wear a hip sling—Disney, the zoo, a movie, etc. I want to find the person who said, “fanny pack!” and explain what they’ve done to us. I simply must know how the word “fanny” ever even came up in the first place. Even “waist wallet” is better than fanny pack, and waist wallet is super bad. Crossbodies and messenger bags are terrific, because they keep you hands-free—it’s as good as we can hope for thanks to the fanny debacle—but they start making one side of your body hurt after a while, because they’re not balanced. Poor hip sling. Poor me. Curse you fanny pack namer!

As worked up as I am, I need to move on. I’ve got appliances to brag on and a tumbler of water that needs ice to feel sassy.

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8 thoughts on “World Class Empathy

  1. I have empathy for people sitting in traffic waiting for the light to change…and if the cars don’t hustle through the intersection when the light changes and stay close together the last two or three cars have to wait for the next light.. Usually me…. So come one! Go when the light turns green! ~ weird, huh?

  2. Fanny pack” is SO a contender for the most helpful item with the worst, most unfair name of all time. Well that and the infamous “ballcock” mechanism on toilets. Good grief. Oh and I feel bad when I accidentally shrink an item of clothing in the dryer (especially if it’s brand new) or if I lose a sock’s partner. They were COUNTING ON ME and I managed them haphazardly. Guilt is my punishment!

    • Trix, right??? To have this REAL NEED ambushed by a bad name pains me often. I keep thinking some cool brands could give it fresh life, but it never happens. Very disheartening. Drying a new clothing item is THE WORST. I did it just the other day and when I saw it, I grabbed it and held it tightly to my chest apologizing profusely and lamenting my possible loss. 🙂

  3. If your dress clothes do get haughty, you need to remind them that they have only recently been upgraded from jeans on Friday to full blown business. March those fancy pants right out to the backyard and get busy.

  4. I put books on the shelf next to others I think they would be friends with. I don’t think this is empathy, so much, as the desire to have these things I love have decent companions. Someone with a mutual interest, perhaps? And I’m all about bringing the fanny pack back. Bad name and all!

    • It’s so kind of you to put books together that you think might hit it off. I’m now starting to wonder about all my books. I know I’ve got a BUNCH ill-placed … unless opposites attract with books, too? Hmm. Worth thinking about. BRING BACK THE FANNY PACK AND MAKE IT COOL … someone! anyone! Now please go walk vigorously and get Jake into this world 🙂

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