Last Saturday, I was having an all out crank-out. I was out of sorts, tired, and just feeling “meh” about everything. Talk about waking up on the wrong side of the bed. I woke up on the wrong side of the house, the street, and the neighborhood. The level of crankiness I achieved had not been seen in our house since the girls were in diapers. There was no rhyme or reason to it. I was just cranky.
Thankfully, I have an amazing husband, who, rather than gather up the children and flee to higher ground (i.e. anywhere outside of my vicinity), drew me in close as if to tell me a secret and whispered in my ear his plans for us to have an impromptu date night later on that evening. His recognition of my distress, his playfulness, and his solution, were so timely (and so appreciated), I couldn’t help but loosen my grip on the bad mood and watch it float up, up, and away.
He’s good like that. Handsome, smart, ambitious, and can talk me down off the ledge with the promise of fajitas and margaritas? He’s definitely a keeper.
This particular day, he outdid himself.
Same day, later on in the afternoon, we were relaxing in the living room while the girls played on their own. I had to run an errand in a little while, and I asked the Hubs to remind the girls to take care of their chores while I was gone. I asked him to do it because (IMHO) they’re more likely to listen to him than they are to me. I said as much and then started to unspool a story to back it up. The Hubs came over to where I was sitting and all but put his finger to my lips to hush me up.
“C’mon now,” he said, “Let’s not take the express train to Negative Town.”
I was so caught off guard, so instantly deflated, I couldn’t do anything but laugh. “The express train to Negative Town?!” And then I realized, I was literally standing on the platform, waving my ticket in the air. I was about to jump onto that train and ride it all the way into the city center, where no doubt I’d spend an inordinate amount of time belly-aching and stewing.
And for what reason? There’s no feeling better on that ride. There’s just picking up every slight and snub until your pockets full and you can barely shuffle along.
With one unexpected and timely suggestion, the Hubs effectively pulled me away from the tracks and tore up my ticket.
I’ve never considered myself a damsel in distress, but I certainly got rescued that day.
Since then, whenever I’m starting to feel the desire to air my grievances, I think about the express train to Negative Town. Almost immediately, whatever I was about to carry on about seems ridiculously unimportant.
The express train to Negative Town? Why? There are so many better places to go and I’ve got the best guy to go with me.
Also published on Medium.