Kristy Kelly: Posh Poverty

Last night, everyone and everything got on my last nerve. Even Loki, whose sole purpose is to be loved, managed to annoy me while attempting to slather my face with his wet affection. If you’ve never met my dog, he has a beard. When he drinks water, his beard holds about a gallon and a half, which he then shares with whomever he decides to love upon. It’s usually me.

I love my husband, I love my sons, and I love my dogs. These are facts that cannot be changed. They also don’t change the fact that I get mad over some of the absolute dumbest things imaginable.

This past year, we all learned we love electric biking. If you are lazy and still want to ride a bicycle, ten out of ten recommend a bike that does the pedaling for you. You may recall my saga with the very large trike I attempted to use. It did not go well. However, many people across town have now seen my son navigating the streets of Kinston on that tough-looking, three-wheeled electric bicycle.

Same Son, Different Bike

My best friend, Julie, and I bought matching electric bikes with 14-inch tires so my short little legs had a chance of touching the ground. Success! We’ve both zoomed around town as we get the Pink Jacket Bike Club started.

My son also had another electric bike. One day, he came to me and said he’d forgotten to charge it. Could he borrow mine?

I wanted to say no. But who looks at their child, just trying to go to work to make a living, and says no, you can’t use my bicycle? So I said yes. Then the brakes failed on his, and borrowing mine became a more regular occurrence.

Unfortunately for me, he returned it with a flat tire. But not to worry, Mom. If I told him what to buy, he’d pay for it.

That was well over a month ago.

I know I’m cutting off my nose to spite my face, but I’ll be damned if I want to manage the repair of something that was working just fine when I handed it over. It’s infuriating. Now my son is back to riding the giant trike, and I’m not entirely convinced its brakes work all the time.

It came to a head because I ran my mouth about the frustration of not having a bike to ride. The men in my life immediately wanted to solve the problem. I had to explain that I was frustrated because fixing it apparently required me to do something.

I’d already done something. I’d lent him my bicycle.

The Hot Tub Was Too Hot

I got home from work yesterday after a relatively uneventful news day and began working on my new story, Her Villain Era. It didn’t take long for me to realize I was mentally in a bad space after I’d written twelve deaths, two fights, and one tongue being ripped out of a mouth.

I decided to take my moody butt outside and attempt to get rid of some of my troubles. My son bought me an inflatable hot tub for my birthday, and for the most part, it has solved every problem I’ve encountered since its placement at the side of my house.

Except when I got in, the water was too hot.

That made me so mad, I got out and stomped through the wildflower field to rip out tall weeds that were hindering my view. The flowers already stand taller than I do, so I’m not sure how much of a view I was defending.

In the dark, with steam rising off my body, I probably looked paranormal.

The Towel Wasn’t Soft Enough

In an attempt to salvage my evening and take the weariness from my husband’s eyes, I got in the shower to find my inner peace.

Even though I’d bought new bottles of shampoo and conditioner, I’d forgotten to remove the old bottles and put out the new ones. Mild inconveniences shouldn’t inspire the rage I felt over my own inaction, but I sure chucked that empty shampoo bottle across the bathroom. It ricocheted off the wall and slid behind the toilet.

A few months back, I’d purchased two towels for the hot tub. In my anger-induced haze, I grabbed the used towel hanging in the bathroom instead of the unused one. If you’ve ever stepped out of a hot shower expecting a soft, plush towel and gotten sandpaper, it truly sucks.

By the time I laid my head on the pillow, I was still irritated. But I also had to admit that the evening’s list of grievances said something about my life.

We may never have millions in the bank, but I have an electric bike, even if it’s currently waiting on a tire. There is a hot tub at the side of my house and sometimes a plush towel in my bathroom. I have a husband and sons I love, and a dog determined to share every drop of water he drinks with me.

I’m living it up in posh poverty.

And that is truly a blessing, even when it gets on my last nerve.