That’s right: There is no discussion; there is no equivocation. The door is closed; the conversation is over. I have holstered my pointing finger that wagged so definitively in your direction. I have recovered from my case of eye-rolling; there is no more exasperated and exaggerated sighing. I have stormed off in a fit of pique – and I was glorious in my dramatic exit, I might add.
I am not in a snit, where I might have spent a half day or so harrumphing around in my boots of glum because the world had not lived up to my expectations.
No, this is bigger; this is better. This is a full-blown case of the how-dare-you angries. That’s right: I am mad, and I am reveling in this stew of bubbling turmoil. There is steam coming from my ears; my face is red with rage. I am like the character in the classic movie “Network” who bellowed out the window, “I am mad as hell, and I am not going to take it anymore.”
Yes, I am mad as hell. Oh, how delicious it is. I can revel in it; I can roll around like a dog in the dirt. I can sink into this glorious, self-righteous place. It’s like the cushiest of sofas, where I can sink down and be swallowed up by all that comfy comfort. I am feeling downright fabulous in this tempestuous place.
I am puffed up with justification. The facts are on my side; my friends are unanimous in their support. I am perfectly – and that is capital “P” perfectly – right. Right … the word rolls off my tongue like I am sipping a fine wine.
Ahhh …. the sheer triumph of feeling keenly acute, outstandingly aware and totally brilliant in my perceptions. It’s clear why I am good at my job: I can read a situation. I can understand the nuances, the dynamics, and the subtleties. Hey, sub-texts are my specialty.
And there is the history. If only you knew what had happened before, if only you understood the repetitiveness of this egregious offense, if only you could see how much they hurt me, then you would really understand the heinousness of this offense.
And me, well, you know I am a paragon of virtue. I do so many nice things. I am uber-responsible. And I am right: 100% correct; 1000% accurate. I am willing to wager money that I am right, right, right.
Clearly, I can’t stop saying the word enough. I am right. I love the way that sounds. I love the way it feels. Does Hallmark make a card for this?
I guess if Hallmark did make a card, it might say something like, “Are you a schmidiot? No, you’re an idiot. And I’m not.” Maybe there will be a dancing cow on the inside. There is nothing like a dancing cow to make you feel beyond swell.
Or, perhaps, the message could be in one of their musical cards – they are a personal favorite. Dolly Parton, undoubtedly holding a firearm, could be singing a baleful tune of “You’re wrong, darlin’, ‘cuz I know for damned straight sure that I am right.” I envision a bull’s eye featured on the inside.
And it is the satisfaction of hitting the mark dead center that is so like being right. Right is hugely appealing. Right is sitting next to perfect; they are kissing cousins, and how good does that get?
Excuse me, what is that racket in the back of the room? One of you in the peanut gallery has a question? OK, shoot.
“Would you rather be right or would you rather be happy?”
Well, if I’m right – and I am – then, I am happy. I don’t get your point.
“Can’t constantly thinking you’re right get awfully lonely? Don’t people get sick of your gloating? You seem like you might be tough to take on a regular basis with that right-right-right happy dance of yours.”
There is great luxuriousness in being right. It’s like a five-star hotel. Not everyone can afford a room, but when you can and when you are in there with the thousand-count bed sheets, the sumptuous furnishings, and the fine view, you feel on top of the world.
But, I get your point. If I am in this snazzy hotel room by myself, it wouldn’t be as much fun. Truth be told, holding on to right can get pretty isolating and even a tad boring. I sometimes feel like I’m a one-trick pony, all I can do is be right.
“Do you ever forgive anyone?
Forgive? Why should I? You want me to take the high road. Not likely, they never say they’re sorry to me.
“But if you could forgive them, wouldn’t that create some peace and then every one would be happy? And you would be even righter by taking the high road. Think of all that good karma you’d be creating.”
Hmmm … righter than right, less lonely, happier people, and karma-building, I will take that under advisement.