Spoiler alert

When I was younger and would hear the story of how my parents met, I'd close my eyes and imagine myself watching how it all went down. 

I'd see my father walk into the department store, trying not to trip over his bellbottom pants. He picks out his Afro with the fist-handled pick and sticks his nametag on his shirt. As he heads to the cash register, he encounters a new employee, a cashier, on her first day of work. 

With a neat mini-fro and a dusky brown wrap dress, my mother introduces herself and flashes a shy smile. My father, the store manager, says hi and goes on about his way, noting to himself that the new girl has quite the pretty smile. 

I wondered what would happen if I went back in time, entered the store at that moment, and told them all that would happen. 

You two are going to fall in love!

You're going to propose to her in 7 years! 

You're going to have two children! 

There will be financial difficulties and in-law issues but you will be married for more than a quarter century!

I'm sure they'd look at me, look at each other, and deem me certifiable. 

But if  I told them how the story will go...

How it will progress...

How it will end...

If they knew all that, it might make things easier. 

Make nights more restful. 

Make days less stressful. 

Make their hearts more comfortable.

But...

If they knew all that, it would have messed up their faith walk. 

Such knowledge would have eliminated lessons that God wanted them learn. 

It would have ruined the story. 

There are days where I imagine my future daughter watching my story unfold. 

Is her father standing right before my eyes, and she's screaming at me to recognize him?

Is she blurting out spoilers?

Is she reading lines written in the script before they are even said? 

She probably is. 

But I have to be glad I can't hear her.

Trying to continue to trust Him

Watch What You Eat

Water Cooler Lesson of the Week:

Before you indulge in the office’s free lunch, consider the hands that made and touch it. 

A couple of months ago, a coworker of mine brought in a homemade carrot cake. He placed it on a nearby island for anyone with a sugar jones to enjoy. The frosting was creamy and inviting. The cherries on top looked fresh and sweet. But I was halfway through my slice of cake when I noticed Amy’s stern look. 

“What?” I said, with my mouth full.

She asked me, “Why are you eating from them?”

I searched her face for any sign of humor or glee. But there was none. She was all business.

But I had no idea where she was coming from. “What do you mean?”

“You know we don’t eat from them. You only see them here but who knows what their habits are like at home. You don’t know what their kitchens look like. You don’t know if they’re clean. And some of them you know for sure aren't!”

Another friend told me a similar story of a former coworker who would always share her dishes with the office. My friend never partook of the offered treats due to the fact that said coworker went dumpster diving on a regular basis.

My appetite suddenly gone, I looked down at my slice of cake and slowly flipped it over into a nearby trashcan.

Recently, a dessert of a giant chocolate dipped, candy confetti encrusted fortune cookie was placed in the kitchen. I watched as whole palms groped the cookie, noses swept over the chocolate, and coffee-odored breath moistened the sprinkles.

While watching, I saw Amy out of the corner of my eye. She smirked and gave me a knowing nod.

That’s why we don’t eat from them.

Dudes Don't

It's common knowledge that men and women are different. Men have greater physical strength. Women are better at relating emotionally. A man's body is a series of angles while a woman is a composite of curves.

But who knew that even the little everyday things both of us face flow differently?

My coworker Bernard broke it down to me:

Dining

"If I go out to eat, alone or with a guy friend, I sit at the bar," he said.

"What!?" I exclaimed. "You wouldn't sit at a table?"

He turned his head side to side in disapproval. "No, we gotta sit at the bar. Especially if I'm eating alone. If I'm by myself, at least I can talk to the bartender or look at the T.V. If a man sits alone at a table, he just looks sad."

Hmm. "Not even a booth though? If there were four of you...?"

He sucked his teeth as he pondered.

Finally, he said, "Maybe."

Movies

"When I go to the movies with one of my boys, we don't sit next to each other."

I laughed. "Why not?" Every movie I've gone to see, whether it was with a man or a woman, we sat side by side, occasionally brushing elbows as we shared the use of the cup holder/armrest.

"Men just don't. He has to be a seat or two over or up. The only guy I sit right next to is my brother."

Bernard shook out his arm as he finalized, "You need that space."

Beds

When I have guests over, I usually give them my bed while I sleep on my couch or an airbed.

But Bernard shook his head at that.

"Only my mother can sleep in my bed," he declared. "I had a friend of mine come over and I didn't see him brush his teeth once...he can't sleep in my bed."

I was intrigued. "Really? What if a friend of yours had major surgery and had to stay with you. Where would they sleep?"

A handful of seconds passed.

"My couch pulls out. They'll be fine."

I told him," Well, there have been times when I'm visiting a friend where we share a bed."

At that admission, Bernard responded with a blank stare.

"No...just no. Dudes don't do that."

Our differences are indeed amazing. 

Dollar

I was louder than usual. I was bolder than usual. But the statement was so jarring that I had no time to censor myself. 

"You did what?"

 My coworker Bernard repeated himself, reciting it once again with no shame. 

"I bought salmon from the dollar store."

He smiled nonchalantly and nodded his head. During a shopping trip, Bernard had decided to take advantage of a great deal and purchase some dinner, stuffed salmon, from a dollar store. His previous food purchases from those stores always ended well,particularly when he bought one of his favorite snacks, Fig Newtons.


"You could get a whole fig in one bite," he said, his eyes glazing over at the memory. 


 I appreciate the financial relief that dollar stores bring but I'm scared of buying anything from there that I have to chew, absorb or ingest. 


Their items cost a dollar for a reason.

 "So, how was it?"

Bernard began to laugh. When he got home and began to prepare the salmon, he made a disappointing discovery. 


There was only an inch of salmon meat. More than half of the "salmon" was breadcrumb stuffing.


What have we learned? You get what you pay for.