Hershey-Kissed Priorities

I walked by an agitated fellow the other day while he was talking into his cell phone. He was obviously pissed (but not out of control) and persistent with the individual on the other end. However, the person on the receiving end of his wrath was having none of it, but rather had immersed themselves in the heavenly noncommunicable world of chocolate.

After hearing just his side of the conversation, I have been plagued by the thought of what the other person looks like, what they sound like and where and how they were sitting while talking to this guy. I find myself having a bizarre admiration for this person that I don't even know. And if it's not admiration, then it's affection.

Here's how his side of the conversation went:

The guy: "LOOK, I think we have more important things to talk about than how many chocolates you can eat."

***PAUSE***

The guy: "Maybe that's because you're an asshole."

This cracked the shit out of me. I immediately wanted to hang out with the person on the other end of this phone call. I just pictured them sprawled on the couch, this guy on his cell phone all pissed off and this person is on box #4 of chocolates - "mao-mao-mao-raoh-raoh-raoh" (those are suppose to be the sounds of chowing down) tossing the ones he/or she doesn't like, half-eaten onto the floor along with a pile of wrappers, scratching their crotch and not really giving a fuck what he's rambling on about. This person's primary concern right now is how many chocolates he/or she can devour. And to hell with anything else.

One of my brothers recently got EXTREMELY upset at my sister-in-law for leaving 3 rinsed dishes in the sink instead of putting them into the dishwasher. He wasn't talking to her. I'm sure that it was something else that was really bothering him. But, when put in perspective, I'm not certain that the real reason (whatever it was) really held any validity to be that pissed off at her.

Our neighbors emailed yesterday, they're coming home tomorrow with their lives and they're happy to have them. They had to actually leave their luggage and literally run for their lives fleeing Lebanon. They barely made it to Damascus, where they weren't permitted to stay and so they then fled to Amman, Jordan. The husband (who is Lebanese) had to leave his family there. Thankfully they'll be home tomorrow.

So, Will and I are going to make a "Welcome Home" banner and I'm going to bake LOADS of chocolate brownies for them and their children. Sometimes how much chocolate we can eat sounds to me like a perfectly reasonable thing to concentrate on.