Things could be worse

Things have been a little frustrating around these parts lately.  I'm pulling a major Eeyore over here, and my tail just cannot be found.  It's a sad state of affairs, indeed.

In an effort to pull myself out of the funk and get a better attitude, I've been looking for the bright side.  For example, in our new neighborhood people don't quite get the concept of 4th of July.  Instead, they set off fireworks all summer long.  Yep, ballastic missiles over our house almost every night.  You know that show they put on over Boston Harbor on the 4th?  They do that on our street every night.  Fun.  As I set up a temporary bed for Tiny Human in our closet so she could sleep through the air-raid attack from unlawful combatants, I thought to myself, "It could be worse...at least they haven't set our house on fire."  See what I did there?  I took a negative and found something positive.  Like freakin' Ghandi or Mr. Rogers.

Two separate things happened recently that made me realize, it's not all doom and gloom, Kath.  Things really could be worse.

For instance, yesterday I got caught behind a semi-truck full of chickens on my way to work.  Feathers were everywhere.  I assumed that all these chickens were dead.  And I, of course, was wrong.  As I passed the semi, I noticed several of them pecking.  God knows what they were pecking at...the air?  their sanity?  remnants of their hopes of dreams to be free-range?  I instantly felt sad for those chickens. I couldn't help but think of how terrifying it would be to be in a cage facing backwards driving down the highway. I decided right then and there, no matter what, at least I'm not a chicken on a semi.  And that my friends, means I'm winning.

Another eye-opening experience happened at the seedy local gas station I like to frequent.  I choose to go to the scariest gas station within five miles of our home because they have the cheapest gas.  I'm willing to risk my personal safety for savings at the pump.  Besides, I like scary gas stations.  To me, they are very Americana.

So as I was purchasing my gum and drink, the following interaction happened:

*Kathy pays with debit card*
*Another patron, who is ignoring the social norms of personal space, looks over my shoulder*

Stranger: Oooooh girl, you've got your picture on your card!
Kath: Yep.  It prevents people from stealing all my money
Stranger: Mmmhmmm, I heard that.  Better than having it on your forehead
Kath (confused by the turn in conversation): Yep
Stranger: No, I'm serious.  In places like Arizona they put it on your forehead.  Or right here on your wrist (shoves wrist in my face).

At this point, I have no idea what is going on.  And I'm filled with questions...  Did something change in Arizona after I left?  Are they tattooing people's foreheads with credit card information?  Or did he mean they put your picture on your forehead?  Because that seems a bit redundant.  Why would you need a picture on your forehead of yourself?  That's what your face is for.

I left the gas station (in a hurry) feeling assured that things could definitely be worse.  I could live in Arizona still where Bank of America makes you tattoo your face.