I’m telling you, everything happens for a reason

Everything happens for a reason. Like that time I stepped in dog shit. I was really pissed off, grossed out. I didn’t feel like cleaning it off. So I said goodbye to those shoes. I said, “So long shoes!” and I threw them in the trash, somebody else’s trashcan, obviously. Garbage pickup isn’t until Tuesday, and I didn’t want to worry about accidentally forgetting that those shoes were in there, and then I’d go to take out some garbage or something and I would open up the lid and just be overwhelmed with, well, I don’t have to get in to actually describing how terrible that would have been. What if I was right about to enjoy a nice snack? And right before I’m about to chow down, I’m like, hmm. Maybe I should take out the garbage? And I do that, and that scenario that I just described winds up unfolding. And I’m just so disgusted now. My appetite’s gone. I go sit down to my snack, but I’m just really not into it anymore. I’m not into snacking right then. I’m not into anything. I have this scowl like etched onto my face. And so my snack just goes to waste. Obviously I can’t just leave the snack out to go bad, but I don’t want to make another trip out to the garbage can, so I don’t do anything, which is actually the same thing as leaving the snack out to go bad. And it gets really bad. But, like I said, trash day isn’t until Tuesday. So then maybe the next day one of my friends comes over. And maybe I’m in the shower when this friend comes over. And I hear the doorbell ring, so I just jump out of the shower real quick, still soapy and everything, but I can’t just leave him outside to wait for me to finish up. So I run downstairs all soapy but covered with a towel, I unlock the door and give a really quick “Hey!” but I start running upstairs right away, because I’m dripping and making a huge soapy puddle everywhere I go. I say, “I’ll be out in a second! Make yourself at home!” which is always a nice thing to say. I hate when you go over somebody’s house and it’s clear that they don’t want you to make yourself at home. They might as well be saying, “Don’t make yourself at home. Respect the rules of a good houseguest.” Like you have to take your shoes off before stepping foot inside. I always hate this rule, because what if somebody spills a little drop of soda on the floor? Or one potato chip? And then when you step on it, now you’ve got a wet spot on the bottom of your sock. Or a crushed up potato chip. And even though you do your best to clean it up, there are still potato chip crumbs stuck in there somewhere. If you were just wearing shoes, it wouldn’t be such a big deal. Or, there’s the other end of the spectrum, where whoever’s house your at has a great carpet, like super plush, shag carpeting. And not only do you want to take your shoes off, but you want to take your socks off. You want to get as undressed as you can without making the situation awkward and you want to just roll around in the soft carpeting, feeling totally comfortable, very, very plush, like I said. But your host gives you a face as you start to untie your shoe, and you get the hint, so you retie it, make it like you weren’t going to take off your shoes, you were just making the knot a little tighter. Whatever, the host saw right through it. But you know that the host is doing exactly what you wish you could be doing when he’s by himself. Just moving all of the furniture out of the room so it’s just the carpet, that beautiful, plush, luxurious shag carpeting, and he’s just rolling around in it, back and forth, every part of his body touching every inch of carpeting, back and forth. And he gets up and his whole body is charged with positive particles, and he can feel them. He’s feeling like turbocharged, not just from the comfort, but from all of those ions and that static electricity. And he drags his feet over across the carpeting right to the doorknob, and he touches it. And it’s this huge spark, like, ”ZZZZAP!” like it’s such a big shock he can smell it, he can smell the charged air, and it’s just everything you would possibly imagine that to be like. But I’m a good host. When I say, “Make yourself at home brah,” I’m serious. And my guest knows I’m serious, that I’m not just saying it to be pleasant. I’m like do whatever you want here. And he goes to the fridge and grabs a drink and he takes a look at my old snack which is still just sitting there, it’s been sitting there for days, a nice cheese plate maybe, and he starts chowing down. But it’s cheese, so you really can’t tell if it’s bad or not. You’re like, “Hmm … this cheese sure tastes extra fancy.” And then he gets really sick, like really sick. And he’s going to throw up, but he doesn’t want to throw up in the house, so he runs outside and opens up the lid to the trashcan, with those dirty sneakers still just sitting there, and he’s overcome with the stench, and it’s too much, and he dies. And it’s all my fault. That’s why when I step in something, I just throw out my shoes in someone else’s trashcan. Or a public trashcan. But usually someone else’s, because those public trashcans fill up so fast, and there’re just piles of litter not in the trashcan, but sitting right next to it. I got a new pair of sneakers. They’re blue. I keep getting compliments on how awesome they are. I’m eating a snack right now. It’s fucking delicious. I told you, everything happens for a reason.

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