Jumping the Gun

 

This morning, after I got out of the shower, I snuggled up in my white terry cloth robe to dry off. As I tied the belt around my waist, my mind went back 25 years to the time I bought it for my husband and I had to laugh.

We had just moved to California, and we were in the painful process of looking for a house. The housing market was “lively” as our broker told us, and it seemed that houses sold almost as fast as they went on the market.

One cloudless perfect Southern California Thursday, we found the house of our dreams. On a cul-de-sac, it had the right number of bedrooms and bathrooms and the obligatory kitchen, of course. The lawn was manicured —it was, after all, Southern California. It had a new roof, was recently painted and had a good location, but the cherry on top of this sundae of perfection was the hot tub in the back yard.

We had lived in many houses in many places, but we had never had a hot tub. My husband was thinking of the bliss of soaking his aching body after the long commute he had every day, and I was thinking that I would have a good excuse to buy a new bathing suit. We were both very happy about this house.

We made our bid, it was accepted and we began to plan. We would move in six weeks, we would invite the kids home for July 4th—and tell them to bring swimming suits with them.

Father’s Day came before the house sale paperwork was completed, but I knew what I was getting Don—a white terry cloth robe to wear from the hot tub to the house. He never never never had worn a robe, but I just knew he’d enjoy the warmth and softness of the robe I picked out as he ran into the house on chilly evenings. When he opened the package, he tried valiantly to work up some enthusiasm, but tepid would be an overstatement for his response. I tried to convince him that every hot tub needed a robe.

I was making headway in the great robe hullabaloo, when our realtor called to inform us that the house didn’t appraise for what they were asking. We didn’t have the money to raise our bid and the house slipped through our fingers. Eventually we found exactly the house we wanted (minus the hot tub) and spent 7 happy years in it…I wearing the white bathrobe that Don could see no use for and had never put on his body. And so it has been, for the last two moves. No hot tub, but a dandy terry cloth robe that I love to get into after a steamy hot shower.

However, it reminds me every so often that it’s easy to jump the gun. That anticipation isn’t fact. And that when things don’t work out the way we think they will, good things can still be on their way.

Snuggling in that white robe is a lesson for me to take each day as it is and not as I want it to be.
Bev.

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