The Chicken

Life sucks sometimes, right?

Yeah.

In the past few weeks, lots of heavy stuff has been going on (in my world and in the world at large). We’re still having testing done on Jack for school. My daughter is hormonal and vacilates from angel to devil in mere moments. I’m struggling to muddle through my final classes while taking care of Jack’s needs, my family’s needs, and still act as taxi driver, head chef, and laundress. If I see one more political ad, I might break the television.

So, I snapped.

(Do you know the story of Beyonce the Chicken? You read, I’ll wait…)

Anyway, I spent the past few months deciding how I would fix my office up. I mean, my office has to be special. It has to have ample shelving, be child friendly, warm, have a comfy chair…after all, my office is where I spend the majority of my day.

Comfy chairs are hard to come by. So are desks for short people. Alas, an adjustable desk was found (hooray!) and I could shop for the perfect chair to match. I had seen one at my local HomeGoods and was stalking it. It was sort of abstract with big, bold flowers on it. It was comfy and stylish and so….me!

Yet, I was missing the perfect accessory.

And then, I saw her.

My own Beyonce. JUST LIKE THE REAL ONE. 5 foot, 3 inches of orange, yellow, red, and turquoise metal. Only it’s a rooster, so I don’t know how to name her. him. ahem.

Well, I was just sure that the Universe wanted me to have her. him. Unfortunately, my husband would not allow me to spend $150 on a 5 foot 3 inch tall metal chicken.

I bought my chair and a little side table while whispering my sadness to Not Beyonce. I asked the boy who helped me to my car when she’d go on clearance. He didn’t know. He did┬ámumble┬ásomething about the chicken being something that not many people would want…

So, I decided, I would visit her (him) daily. Each morning, at the moment the store opened, I would visit. We’d snuggle and say sweet nothings to each other, while I hid my tears from her (his) his piercing eyes.

The store manager overheard us.

She took me aside to tell me that Not Beyonce was going to go on super clearance on Sunday. I hugged that woman.

My husband said not to bring her (him) home. That I could not, in any way, spend money on her (him).

(time lapse a couple days)

Sunday was a glorious morning. I dressed up in my finest chicken-getting clothes. I called my mother and told her we were going shopping! She had no idea…

Since I wasn’t allowed to spend any money on her, I decided to return the table that I purchased–just in case that she (he) was the same price. Because, then, in theory, I wouldn’t be spending any money–because the money had already been spent. Aren’t I so smart?

It gets better.

Not Beyonce was on Super Clearance. For less than the returned table. I actually got money BACK!

Much to my mother’s horror, we loaded her (him) in the car. Mother said my husband was going to kill me. Obviously, he didn’t.

So, I sit here telling you this story with Not Beyonce sitting next to my desk. She (he) helps me. She (he) makes me giggle. She (he) inspires me.

All funny aside, sometimes, we get so wrapped up in the daily living (struggling), that we forget to laugh. We forget to do something spontaneous for ourselves. I’m not saying you have to go buy a giant chicken, but do something for you once in awhile. I’m not talking coffee at Starbucks. I’m talking the smelly candle that entices you when you walk past at the mall, but never have time to examine. I’m talking the big shoe sale at the department store that you can’t ever make it to because there’s always something else. Once in awhile, for YOU, do something spontaneous. Something that no one would expect. And then smile.

You deserve it.

 

 

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