The Moral of the Story Is: ______ ?

"How do you even wipe your butt with those things?!"
It annoys me when people say something about my really long nails. They were only  that long because my favorite nail shop has been closed the last two times that I went to them and I don't let just anyone file my nails. Tonight, my shop was closed again and I had to resort to getting them done at another shop, which I have only frequented maybe once or twice since living in Baltimore. 

I took a risk and let the elder Vietnamese woman attempt to cut and file my nails. I adored her jet-black, blunt cut bob. I trusted her because of her great hair and to my dismay, she did a horrible job on my nails. I was pissed but I didn't complain, I simply asked her for the nail-file and began to fix each one of them myself. 

I guess I was taking a longer time filing than she expected because the owner of the shop came over and rudely asked me, "What shape you want?! I fix for you!" 

"No, thank you." I said. "I can fix them. It's no trouble." 

"Well she waiting for you! You take too long! Let me fix now!"

I was completely shocked and appalled by his audaciousness. "Excuse me? No, thank you." I kept my cool. "She doesn't know how to file them. She made them too pointy and they aren't even pointing straight up. They are leaning to the left. This is unacceptable but I didn't even complain. I quietly fixed them myself... I don't see how that's a problem." 

"You take too long! She sitting there waiting for you!" 

"I do not mean to be a nuisance. I'm not purposely taking too long. It's really not my fault that she doesn't know how to file them in a manner that suits me. But she doesn't have to wait for me. I'm leaving. Get out of my face mister." I retorted in the blandest monotone voice that I could muster up. 

"No! You have to pay!" He held his hand out in front of me in the most disrespectful way. 

"Who said I wasn't going to pay? Here!" My tone grew caustic. He was really offending me. I wanted to shout eff-you! and walk right out but instead, I signed the receipt, threw my vintage MCM bag over one arm while grabbing Tay with other. I reluctantly signed the receipt for the full price of twenty-one dollars, even though she only completed half of the job. And don't ask me why I would do this after such horrible hospitality but I still left the lady a $5 tip.. a tip which changed her attitude enough for her to say, "But your nails not done....", imploring that I sit back down and let her finish, as I headed for the door. Really lady? Now you want to stop me from leaving? I turned around and looked her dead in the face and said, "I don't want you to do my nails." 

Infuriated, I drove to the shop across the street.... and then to another shop that was down the street. Both were closed. I almost cried. I mean, I was that angry about my nails that I almost cried. I called Bae. He told me to just get them fixed tomorrow and in the meantime, put on some gloves. I think he was trying to make me laugh but I couldn't even crack a smile. The thought of wearing gloves to cover my nails from myself, in an effort to avoid being reminded of the agony of having a jacked-up manicure, only managed to increase my tension. Men just don't understand. 

Anyways, I went on to be annoyed about the entire ordeal until I stumbled across a picture of an old friend and his mom on Instagram. My entire disposition shifted after I realized that his mom is going through chemotherapy. Tears blurred my vision and by the time I wiped my eyes, everything was much more clear. There are greater things to worry about than bad customer service or something as frivolous as a terrible nail job. And right now, in this very moment, I can honestly say, I am beyond guilty of forgetting this truth. I mean personally speaking, I have been extremely petty with things as of late.. And this was the exact wake up-post that I needed. 

We only get one life to live.. And we can either spend it living, laughing, loving, traveling, cherishing others, and valuing our daily blessings or we can spend it miserably, complaining about every little thing, inevitably letting our blessings pass us by. That last sentence is far from a glorious epiphany. None of this is newfound information. I learned not to sweat the small stuff a very long time ago. I know better. 

I'm going to spend the rest of my night in meditation, giving thanks to the Universe for gifting me with this reminder.