You're probably sick of hearing about my recent move, but there's something I need to release from my conscience. Sometimes I get angry, but I still smile on the outside for the sake of keeping peace. I recently read an article about the psychological study of happiness. Along with other enlightenment's such as optimism, it stated forgiveness and pretending to be happy can actually, intern, boost authentic happiness. I've found, through my own studies and practice, that forgiveness is much easier after passive revenge. If asked to rate my life's happiness on a scale of A) "very happy" vs. B) "pretty happy" vs. C) "not happy" vs D) "I don't know, ask me after I've had my rum filled chocolate fix", I'd without a doubt choose A (and D would just be a plus), but there's always room in one's life for even more happiness. . . . . . right?
On this day, I tried to practice the above suggestions. The landlord had come to the house, hobbling on his broken casted foot with crutches and a caulk gun to fix the windows. I felt a little sorry for him, but nothing close to the pity I felt for myself for moving into his money pit (after all, I have had a broken foot twice in the last 4 years). When he asked for a towel, I did what any properly trained housewife would do. I went inside and grabbed the shop rag I had used the prior day to clean the entire house. "Oh, you dampened it for me. Thanks, " he said as I handed it to him. I smiled back thinking to myself, "Yeah, if that's what you want to call left over wetness from a combination of chemicals and toilet water." (I couldn't very well let him ruin a good towel, now could I?) It seemed like a relatively harmless action until later, while dealing with his frustration over the gas pipe issue, he started using the same rag to wipe his brow and face with. At this point, I continued to do what I'd like to think anyone of my moral stature would do, nothing. "Oh shit, that is nasty," I laughed to myself as I struggled to keep my giggles internal.
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The problem is although my initial intent was not malicious, it was far too late to tell him about the rag's history, but he should probably have been informed to go home and wash his face right away (he couldn't do it at my house since there was no hot water!). My ethical dilemma was pondering if it was morally inappropriate to find happiness and forgiveness in such a thing. When I told my husband about it later that night, I finally had the chance to laugh my face off about it. (I literally had to pick my face off the floor and put it back on.) I asked him if it was wrong to get so much pleasure out of such a evil thing. He loves me too much to ever tell my anything that would possibly damper my happiness, so he just said, "You are a sexy beast; now lets hit the sack Jack." (Just kidding. . . . . . )
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Nanny Nanny Boo Boo!!!!!
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So what do you think? Is getting even wrong or justifiable? Do you think I should have told him he just wiped his face with disgusting filth? What do you do to sustain authentic happiness?
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