Friday, July 28, 2006

It's not about the mints....

I've a newfound love of all things mint-y. I have become a lover of mints. I much on them by the bag, and buy my bags by the pound. Mints and I are good, close buds.

Yesterday I ran out of mints.

I had to get my hands on some mints.

So I left the house and stormed the grocery store like a mad woman.

I could find no mints.

I found jumbo bags of Mr. Freezies, so I picked those up. (The no name ones, of course. Do I like like the Bank Of Montreal to you? Sheesh).

Still, no mints were to be found. I was chewing on my lips and marching up and down the aisles with a purpose. I was so purposeful, in fact, that small children scattered out of my way and the staff was beginning to stare as though to say "Great. We've got another student whacked out on Speed in the candy Aisle."

Sweat was beginning to pour down between my shoulderblades and I was thinking: What does a woman have to do to get some mints around here?

My palms were getting clammy and I was having trouble breathing; one of my lips was cracked from the chewing; and one of my shoelaces was undone when I asked an innocent salesboy where they keep the mints.

He just gaped in horror and pointed me to the candy section.

And for a second, only a brief second, I thought that my head was going to explode. Because I'd already looked at the damn candy section and for the love of God and all that is Holy, there were no mints in the candy section.

And as the trickle of sweat between my shoulderblades turned into a stream; as my blood pressure raised itself just that much more; as my lip chewing frenzy continued itself: I had an epiphany.

It's not about the mints.

My mom told me about the movie The Breakup with Jennifer Anniston and Vince Vaughn. And in the movie, the couple is fighting all the time. She sent him out to get lemons and he doesn't come back with enough lemons, so, in typical hysterical female style, she gets all persnickety. Then, in typical male style, he gets all man-like.

Vaughn did an interview about the movie and he discussed that scene, and how couples fight over things and he said to the interviewer "You know? It's not about the lemons."

Every now and again I feel that feeling of hysteria that comes over me. It's the feeling that differentiates between me and those of you who are sane. Every now and again, I start to feel like my heart will explode and I will explode and nothing will ever be ok again.

Sometimes I feel like that and I start to wonder "Is something wrong with me?"

And then I realize that the mound of prescription pill bottles in my medicine cabinet alludes to the fact that yes, something is indeed very wrong with me.

I left the store mintless and walking at a slightly slower pace, with a bag full of gossip magazines, No Name Freezies, and Orange Tic Tacs. The bill came up to over fifteen bucks.

Then I decided to try one more store.

That, oddly enough, sells two pound bags of Scotch mints.

And I have my mints and I'm ever so happy. I'm gleeful over the presence of mints in my life. A whole bag of them, all to myself.

Some people need fast cars to be happy. Others need houses on the lake, or a beautiful wife, or perfect children, or a wardrobe from the Gap.

I just need mints.

And so, once again, I decide that while it's hard to be a crazy person, it definitely has its perks as well.



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