Raise your hand if you thought about my grandmother’s red lipstick at 3:00 a.m. last night?
Sorry (and ouch).
A couple of hundred people read the I Wouldn’t be Caught Dead Without my Lipstick post, although only one person “liked” it and only two people commented on it, so I’m not really sure why so many people read it unless they thought it was about zombie couture (If you like reading about zombies, this piece by Snoring Dog Studios is entertaining AND motivating: Several Reasons I Admire Zombies). BTW today’s post is not about actual mummies.
As I was saying, the lipstick post got a lot of attention so I’m a little worried that I have done some damage to my own post-mortem karma. Grandma would not be “tickled” that I made fun of Brother Leroy and told the world she didn’t look “natural” at her own funeral.
I’m not a big believer in “What goes around, comes around” (although in Mr. ______’s case, I hope it does), however, I do believe in The Golden Rule so I spent some time thinking about karma as I ran across the Golden Gate Bridge this morning. On the one hand, I was feeling like the karma gods were with me because it was Monday morning and I was running on the Golden Gate Bridge (AGAIN!) on a spectacular fall day in San Francisco and it really was glorious.
On the other hand, specifically, the “dead” one, I was thinking I should not have written my grandmother off as NUTS when she said her arm was dead, and I should not have made fun of the lady in Thailand with the sling (I bet she had a dead arm). Could it be some kind of cruel payback on the universe’s part that my arm feels like is has been ripped out of its socket and left for dead (are those karma vultures I see)? Is the spirit of my grandmother grabbing a fist full of my sorry, albeit plentiful, upper arm flesh and giving it a little twist the way she did when she didn’t approve of my driving (hey grandmas everywhere, not a great way to critique driving skills)? Did the 50-something, most likely menopausal, Thai woman at the dingy travel office take note of how I eyed her sling suspiciously and then curse me: “Just wait until November; we’ll see who’s mocking who then.”
Midway across the bridge, my arm was killing me. It must have been an odd sight for all of the international tourists snapping photos of Alcatraz and the city scape beyond, to see me shuffling by with one arm bent and the other one flailing every which way in an effort to ease the pain (it’s a paddle-waddle-plodding run). As I paddle-waddled-plodded by, I wonder in how many languages the words “even the runners are big here” were uttered?
I think the Thai travel agent had the right idea – I’m going to start running with a sling. With the sling, the bad knee, and the taped broken toe, I will look like an aging, obese Wile E. Coyote after an anvil has fallen on him or he has opened a “Special Delivery” of TNT. A fat, shuffling mummy crossing the bridge (folks will probably feel sorry for me; they might even offer me spare change).
When we got back to our car after the run, the karma gods were with us again; no animal control officers surrounding our car, pointing Tasers at our terrifying terrified dog – you think I’m kidding – if you only knew how much we agonize over stuff like this. Note: if you have a barking dog that you cannot leave at home and you want to jog across the Golden Gate Bridge, there is a shady, free place to park, with little pedestrian activity (fewer things to bark at), on the southwest side of the bridge (this ain’t no Fodor’s Guide).
This car was parked next to us. Does anyone else NOT feel sorry for this guy? He may have a karma issue.
That’s all folks.