Bots has kindly invited me to crosspost articles from my blog www.daisysagesays.wordpress.com .
Here is my latest post. Please drop by my site sometime, and write to [email protected] to be included in the upcoming advice column, “Ask Daisy Sage”.
I took this photo some time this past February or March I think, when I was taking my daily walk in the general environs of my home.
I think what made me want a record of this charming little wooden sign was not only its daring dual meaning expression of hostility, ( did the writer literally merely mean dog crap, or metaphorical crap or both?), followed by the polite “Thank you” but the fact that as I walked down the street, and then turned the corner, I discovered 5 IDENTICAL SIGNS in front of other houses. This was no mere whim; this was an anti-crap campaign.
Before the “Tired of your crap” campaign ended, I saw one more sign on someone’s lawn. It said “Please keep your dog off my grass.” The author decided to forego the “tired of your crap” bit. It was written on a flimsy piece of cardboard instead of wood. It could easily have dissolved under the next batch of precipitation.
Even the handwriting seemed slightly shy; almost apologetic. I imagined the author of the cardboard sign being approached by the leader of the neighborhood anti-crap campaign. “All right Jerry, we’re putting the anti-dog crap signs out first thing Saturday morning. There’s no middle ground. Are you with us or against us? ” At which time Jerry said, ” Well yeah, of course I’m anti-dog crap. I mean, that goes without saying. But I don’t want to upset anyone. After all, we do all have to live together, don’t we?”
All of this brings me to this question; how much crap do you allow on the lawn of your life? How much do you worry about upsetting someone by telling them that they are full of crap? Or that they are leaving their crap on your lawn?
To some extent it seems we all consider it a mandatory part of a friendship to listen to a friend talk incessantly about work and love life problems they refuse to do anything to resolve, to pretend their new significant others aren’t hostile pricks, to clog up our busy schedules with appearances at their custody trials, interventions and bail hearings.
I’ll give you an example. I once had a friend who was living with an ex-boyfriend she had actually broken up with two years previously. ( They had gotten a rent to buy deal on a great place just before they broke up, and he begged her to help him hang on to it. ) They were both seeing other people, and yet she was repeatedly vexed by all manner of his living habits, and obviously still angry about his treatment of her the last few years of their relationship, which to be fair had been pretty bad. She was also still quite jealous of the guy’s new relationship, even though she was seeing someone new, too. What did this crap have to do with yours truly? Absolutely nothing, say it again.
I believe I would be a full year and a half younger if I could only have back all the time I listened to this friend on the phone hashing and rehashing the same details of her life with this guy, her various regrets, and her wishes for only the worst for this schmuck. At some point I gave up even trying to offer sensible advice; don’t live with this person anymore, or if you must live with him, try to ignore him. Or hey, light bulb moment, GET A THERAPIST.
One time I cooked an entire chicken and rice dinner from scratch while listening to this girl repeating the same story I’d heard dozens of times before. I pretty much ruined a perfectly good bamboo steamer I had the vegetables in, because she distracted me and I didn’t notice it had tipped over on the pot.
But that was long ago and far away. I stared at my poor charred bamboo steamer, and said “Enough”. I haven’t spoken to that person in a very long time. I don’t allow nearly that much metaphorical crap on my lawn anymore. The friends I have today are all of a much higher grade. But I still wonder sometimes what rationalizations and pretenses are necessary to keep friendships together. What are your boundaries? How much metaphorical crap will you allow on the lawn of your life?
