What goes around, comes around. Karma. Treat others the way that they want to be treated. You'd think I'd learn but I don't. Shoveling Post Honey Smacks cereal into my mouth, I stared, transfixed, at "The Today Show" when suddenly I heard, as though from a great distant, a yelp of pain.My reaction time was rather sluggish as my dogs were helping me with breakfast so, with them accounted for, the wounded wail must have originated from my daughter, Sydney. "Waz-a matter," I yelled from the living room. "I burned my ear on the hair straightener," she replied. "Poor honey," I commiserated, wondering if I had time for another bowl of cereal. "Mom, don't you care," Sydney asked accusingly, showing me the slightly red mark. I could work on my demonstrations of compassion, I thought to myself as I shoved my daughter out the door to potty the dogs and start our truck to warm before we left for school. I resolved to brainstorm ways to show more compassion as I watched Sydney drive the truck around to pick me up.
Later, as the day drew to a close, I had forgotten all about my earlier promise until that hazy memory came sharply into focus as a result of an unfortunate bathroom accident. I'm sure this has happened to everyone, at one time or another, but the shared experience doesn't diminish the trauma as I staggered, off-balance, into the wall, upsetting a shelf upon which our skeleton of a puffer fish has rested for years, causing it to roll, lopsidedly, off. I lunged to catch it, simultaneously emitting a yelp of pain as a spine punctured my finger. "Waz-a matter," Sydney yelled from the living room. Holding my finger tightly, I walked in to show her the blood oozing from my puncture wound. "Poor honey," she commiserated, craning her neck a bit to see the blocked television. I returned to the bathroom and carefully picked up the skeleton to return it to its location on the shelf. Karma blows.
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