The Real Me

My wife, daughter and I were talking before we went to bed last night and I said something funny. “I go to work every day and with my bruised and bloody, bare hands I will dig into granite to extract just a single grain of a compliment” My wife howled, “Larry, that is you. You are a compliment junkie.” My daughter laughed. I laughed too, because it is good to see oneself once and a while. The clear view refreshes.

Yes, it’s true I will sell my shoes and last pair of socks while walking outdoors in a blizzard for just for a scrap of recognition. Sometimes, I think that my ego is as fragile as Faberge egg tossed into the teeth of a category four hurricane.

On occasion, I have been known to perform the flat-footed, clodhopper, mountain dance at the mere whiff of a request. That’s me. That’s who I am. And that does not make me a terrible person? No, just human.

A person who will drive home and smile about the real me as I wait for the red-light.

How about your drive home?

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