Quit Being Ugly
I know, I know, these are trying times and it seems that they have been for a while now. As if our pandemic circumstances weren’t enough to test a saint’s patience, it’s hotter than an egg on the hood of a Firebird (that one’s not mine; I read it somewhere and it was so accurate that it stuck with me and I simply had to put it to use). My newsfeed is filled with “expert” opinions on politics and vaccines and even hurricanes at this point, and I can’t bear to watch the news any more because it’s too stressful. My grandmother used to say, “the world has gone to hell in a handbasket.” I don’t exactly know what a handbasket is, but I think we’re there.
What is not helping our handbasket situation is this rampant run of ugliness we are doling out on each other. We are hot, tired, and mean and it seems our tempers are flared. Just yesterday when I was leaving Trader Joe’s, an employee sideswiped me with not one, but two grocery carts and didn’t so much as bat an eye. “Excuse me,” I said to this fellow in a state of buggy-bitten shock. He grunted and just went on his way. Cauliflower gnocchi bedamned, that deserves some sort of apology, sir.
I think part of it is that our masks, in addition to adding fuel to our ire, also give us a feeling of anonymity. We think we can act out because no one can really see our faces, so we can get away with a little more bad behavior behind that piece of cloth than we would if our full faces were in view. We are a tad emboldened behind that covering, aren’t we? And it’s making us act ugly.
You, under that mask, quit acting ugly.
I’m guilty, too. My mask deprives my brain of the oxygen I need to be patient and kind some days and that makes me extra snarky (you just can’t see my smirk, but it’s there). A few weeks ago, I hurriedly parked my car in a strip mall and headed towards a beauty appointment when a women approached me wringing her hands, fretting. I award her the trophy for World’s Worst Parker after seeing the caddy-corner, off-center, diagonal job she had done in the spot next to my car, and she explained that she was afraid she did not have enough room to get into her vehicle and asked that I move my car to give her some room. I was rushed and suffocated in the humidity under my face covering, plus I do not believe in being penalized because she was unable to park her Kia Soul in a proper manner. I told her that if I had sufficient room to exit my SUV, she should be just fine to enter her Kia. “So that’s it? You’re just going to leave?” she huffed? “Ma’am, you are either going to have to get better at parking or convincing people, but either way, I’m running late. Have a good one!” And I left. That was ugly, y’all.
So here we are, fed up and acting out, and being ugly to each other. I don’t think it’s making us feel better to vent our frustrations on our fellow humans, in fact, I think it’s making us feel worse about ourselves. We need, as my mama told my brother and I when we would rip the heads off each other’s GI Joe’s and Barbie dolls in fits of childhood rage, to quit being ugly.
But I didn’t just come here to talk about the problem. I’ve given it some thought and I have a few things we can do to turn ourselves around. We can quit being ugly and it’s not that hard. We need only to make up our minds that we can be prettier people—to ourselves and to each other, and it’s a simple process. Let’s take a deep breath (if that’s possible while masked up) and:
Don’t argue on social media. It’s a total waste of time. There are no experts on Facebook or Twitter or Instagram. The real geniuses spend their time in actual think tanks or laboratories or high-level meetings, not furiously commenting “FAKE NEWS” or giving their unsolicited opinion on everything under the sun. It is possible to disagree with a post and just keep on scrolling without making your own views known, and it will free up your time to do other enjoyable things. Post pet pictures instead, get more likes. It’s win-win, really.
Go to Cracker Barrel. This one has it all. You can shop the Old Country store for virtually anything from old-fashioned candy to home goods to gift items, and then sit down for comfort food to take all the worry and cares of this world away. Who can argue with a mouth full of hashbrown casserole? Cast your cares into a bowl of dumplins and watch your mood improve. Is it considered ugly to tell someone to shove a biscuit in it, or is that just sage advice? It’s impossible to be angry at the Barrel, unless an uber competitive peg game breaks out at your table. Don’t you feel better? Of course you do. I feel better just thinking about it. Let’s go sit out front in the rocking chairs for a spell.
How many did you leave?
Write a thank you note. Notice I did not say a thank you text, those do not count. Get out some real paper and a pen, and if you still remember how, write in cursive. Thank someone for anything, everything, then seal that note up and put an actual stamp on the envelope and mail it to them. The funny thing is that, selfishly, not only will this make the receiver of the note all warm and fuzzy, you will feel good for doing this, too. Thinking about good things people do for you is like a hug, a real pick-me-up in the middle of all this messiness we are living in. It’s a really cheap form of therapy.
Watch some terrible television. I mean something guilty and just really bad. A friend recently confided that she enjoys Bachelor in Paradise because it is mindless and has beautiful scenery. I have stumbled upon the Vampire Diaries and you all already know I have been a Days of Our Lives aficionado since I was practically a toddler watching with my mom. My problems seem small when I realize I do not have an evil twin, suffer from amnesia, have never fall down an elevator shaft and been presumed dead, never been kidnapped and/or brainwashed…what a lucky, carefree existence I enjoy! Find some ridiculous programming and see if it can change or improve your point of view. After all, things may not be hunky dory where you are, but at least you are not Naked and Afraid, am I right? You bet your mosquito-free, underwear-covered heinie I am.
If all else fails, 24-hour Punch. I read about 24-hour Punch in Garden & Gun magazine last month and the entire article thrilled me to no end. I would be remiss not to share it with you, during this most trying of times, and to encourage all of you to bring punch and the spirit in which it ensues into your world. Read all about it, freeze yourselves up an ice ring, and get festive. If this won’t drown your sorrows, come over to my house because you’re doing something wrong and together, we will make it right, one ladle at a time. I’ll raise a drink to this link:
I don’t think I have ever made punch that didn’t result in a good party. It just doesn’t happen.
But please don’t take my word for it; test this theory for yourselves.
Surely this little to-do list is more than enough to keep us all out of ugly and back on good, pretty behavior again. If I see you at the Cracker Barrel and you need me to move my car, I will. But I’ll have to hurry so I can get home to watch another episode of Vampire Diaries, and you can write me a little thank you note for my troubles. I’ll whip us up a good strong batch of punch and we can toast to the fact that we’ve been weeks without a single social media argument breaking out. If all else fails, maybe you should just shove a biscuit in it (I say with love).
Ah, and I think to myself: what a wonderful world.