Paying It Forward

It’s a little challenging to stay upbeat these days.  The economy is shit.  Mother Nature seems to have gone bipolar.  I haven’t watched Twilight in over a week.  I’m going to be homeless exactly one month from today.  And it seems to do nothing but rain.  April showers, my ass.  April deluges, maybe.

I decided today I’d finally trek to Tiffany’s to exchange a bracelet I’d received as a gift more than a year ago.  Funny how I’d forgotten about it completely with everything else that’s happened in the past year.  Focusing on not dying really does take up most of your mental energy it seems.

I had great plans for the exchange.  I’ve been pining for a sweet small silver necklace to replace the one I’d given to my BFF/hetero-life-partner for her graduation from nurse’s training.  What a double score that I could offset some of the cost of that necklace with this bracelet, right?  Denied.  Apparently because they no longer carry this particular item, they will issue neither a refund nor an exchange credit.

Fuckers.

None of my sweet talking and eyelash batting swayed the heartless manager even a bit.  Maybe that’s because I have eyelashes again, come to think of it.  No one was able to resist when I’d gum my hairless eyelids together over and over again.  C’mon, you know you’re picturing it right now.  Start swooning!

Back to the tirade at hand.  So I said, “Well what the hell am I supposed to do with this then?  Throw it out?  Leave it in the bottom of my drawer for another year?”  Don’t get me wrong, the bracelet is beautiful.  Actually, it’s just far too classy for a heathen like me.  I’d worry too much about messing it up and fretting it looked silly with whatever hooded jersey ensemble I happened to be rockin’ that day.

Tiffany’s dude’s response – “You could give it to someone you know.”

Tiffany’s dude!  Seriously, the best advice you have for me is re-gift?  This was not improving my mood.  I started to feel that ridiculous self-pitying sinking feeling you get when you want to throw a temper tantrum.  “Fine!” I thought through clenched teeth.  I’ll just take my ball (bracelet) and go home.  Hmph!

I think I may have even kicked at the carpet and stomped a little while waiting for the stinky elevator.  I think it’s worth saying again:

Fuckers.

I shuffled onto the elevator and decided to just screw it.  I felt like shit and was seemingly going to descend into a pretty deep funk of wallowing if I didn’t turn it around and quickly.  “Would anyone like this bracelet?” I asked my fellow passengers while holding the piece in the air.  Not surprisingly the response was silence.  As the doors dinged open, a fantastically tall and gorgeous woman walked into the elevator.

“I just adore those bracelets.”

“It’s yours.”

“Pardon?”

I explained the situation.  “I would love for someone to love and wear this bracelet.  I adore the woman that gave it to me and I want it to bring someone joy rather than sit in a drawer.”

“But you could sell it on Ebay…” she said with much doubt in her face.  I explained it just wasn’t worth the drama.  I had no idea what to price it at.  I didn’t want to set up a profile and all that booshit for a one-time sale.  By the time I’d paid fees and shipping there really wasn’t a whole lot of point.

“If you don’t take it, I’m going to give it to charity,” I said while still pushing the bracelet at her.  By this time we were standing on the ground floor amongst the tourists and ridiculously flashy pieces.  Her friend stood several paces away and watched me like she expected my head to spin around twenty times – or like I might whip out a semi-automatic at any moment.

“Then that solves it,” she said with a luminescent grin of perfect teeth.  She gently (finally!) took the bracelet from my hand.  “Name the charity and I’ll make a donation in your name for the value of the bracelet.”

I originally said the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.  After thinking a little more I changed my answer to the Environmental Working Group.  I mean, it is Earth Day after all.  And I’d really rather prevent cancer than cure it.

We shook hands, traded business cards, and went on our merry ways.  I beamed the whole walk to Chelsea.  While sitting here, blogging at Balducci’s, I pulled out her card to send her a thank you note.  Her name is Melora Love.  Love!  Sometimes you just can’t make this shit up.