I don’t mean you, don’t get excited. You can get very excited if you’d like. But I say at least a handful of times everyday, “I don’t get excited.”
“Sorry, it’ll be another half hour.” I don’t get excited.
“I won’t be able to get that done until tomorrow.” I don’t get excited.
“I know we’d planned on going to the mall, but it’ll have to wait till next weekend.” I don’t get excited.
I guess saying that I don’t get excited is my way of telling myself to calm down and don’t get worked up.
So tonight, when I dropped a 2-liter from 3 1/2 feet up, straight onto Elsie’s water bowl, and the bowl flew up in the air and went across the kitchen, flinging water everywhere as it flew… well… I don’t get excited, right? I. Don’t. Get. Excited…
And then, not one minute later, when I sat down with the little bottle of caffeine-and-dye-free soda that I had been after, and when I opened it and it exploded all over me, my pants, my desk, my chair, and my floor…
Darn it, OKAY, you GOT me. I’m EXCITED. See? This is me. Excited. Take a picture, eh?
Now where are some dry pants?