After intermitantly watching election coverage today and doing my humane duty of voting, I retrieved my gift of a Starbucks tall coffee. (Best when free.) As I doctored my excessively black, slightly burned brew with plenty of sugar, cinnamon, and half & half, I overheard a not-so-private lamentation of the human condition, heartache. A girl, close to my own age and embellishing her own reward for voting, pulled out her cell phone and called a friend. Here were her exact words:
"I just wanted to call and tell you about the ongoing presentation of satire and irony that is my life. I'm just getting my free coffee and there is **** across the way at Chipotle with his new girlfriend and his family. Amazing."
And she was not exaggerating. Why is it that when we are at our lowest and most confused, life is at it's most ironic? Perhaps to thicken our skins and fine tune our sense of humor? The jury is still out I suppose. Mostly, I could only sympathize with her.
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