On Friday, my friend Amy and I decided to catch up and indulge in our shared love of American cuisine. What we both adore is ordering a dish with as much fat and cheese as a hamburger but is still labeled “salad.” It’s a wonderful American trick. Over our lettuce and lard, we discussed the normal things girls dish about on Friday nights: dating, penises, clothes, the intriguing lives of famous people, and why we would make really good state beauty pageant coordinators.
I could toss around these subjects for days, but we only had a few hours, and soon concluded that we aspired to revolutionize both pageants and debutant balls. When we left the restaurant, I commented that Amy’s car had a broken taillight and she may want to get that fixed before being affiliated with the Miss America organization. That’s when Amy told me the story that made me realize I have a heart of coal.
Right before the holidays, a man rear ended Amy’s car, breaking her taillights etc. They exchanged information and Amy went to have her car checked out. She learned that it would cost $300 to fix the lights and called the man to tell him so. He asked if he could pay after his next paycheck came in, and she, being sugar and spice, said of course. After she hung up the phone, she thought about his initial reaction when he hit her. How he didn’t seem to have much money and she could tell that $300 was going to be a lot for him, especially around the holidays. So she called him up and said, “I don’t mean to offend, but it seemed that $300 could be a lot for you around this time of year, so let’s just forget this ever happened. Merry Christmas.” The man, was of course very choked up, said he would normally not take money from a woman, but that this was a difficult time for him and emotionally told her how appreciative he was.
Would I ever do this? No way. I would harass the person who hit me until they paid for my light to be fixed. And I doubt I’m alone in my thinking. But Amy is Amy, a person in possession of one of the biggest hearts on this planet.
Stacey and I started writing this blog to become more appreciative people. And I know we can both say that after three + months of writing it, we certainly are. But when I hear stories like Amy’s, I know I still have a long road ahead of me.