“What charity does this benefit?” asks my husband.
“Not sure. $1 of the $38 we spent on the ticket goes to some charity.” I explained.
“That’s not a very high percentage of giving. And this is supposed to make me happy? Do I not look happy? I am a little concerned about my tennis shoes and the leather in my car seat. Will the can of happiness rub off on these things?” my sly clever husband inquires with a tad of sarcasm mixed with humor.
My husband asked the questions only left brain people think about. They think about all of the details that are about as much fun as a fly in a punch bowl. After three months of anticipation my husband is putting the kabosh on my enthusiasm and seriously killing my buzz.
Dang it! I paid over $100 to run unbridled down a street while strangers shower us with dye/paint/stain. And fortunately, since I am able to partake in this opportunity for the Color Run to shower me with sticky/messy happiness they will then pass on a buck to some sick/impoverished/uneducated/homeless/dog/child/adult — this makes me very freaking happy. Then, and only then, when the fun is over and I’ve received my $100 of happiness and some poor shmoe receives their donation, I will think about the consequences of my enthusiasm — but not until then. I have been waiting for my happiness in a can for three months and I want to enjoy every dollar I paid.
“Is it toxic?” Hubby inquires further.
Oh, crap! “Seriously, you did not just ask me this, did you?”
“Mom that looks like a total mess to me!” Pipes in mini left brainer.
Welcome to my party. Would you like some punch?