Dear Universe:
Well played, sir. You have cosmically, if not comically, shifted my perspective. In fact, you flipped a bitch, sir, leaving me with whiplash and acid reflux. I couldn’t sleep at all last night and my limbs were caffeine-jittery without the benefit of a double latte with vanilla soy. And as for my stomach, well, I had that volcanic combination of hunger, nerves, and a dinner that has enough problems of its own without dealing with the first two.

I’ve grown accustomed to certain premises in my life, dude, certain things that are given. For instance:

• My hair will never get any thicker. I’m okay with that. I have come to grips, if you will.
• I should not live in Vermont or even within 250 miles of it. Sad, but very, very true.
• Some friends are friends no matter what. Short of sleeping with my husband, strangling my brother, and wearing white after Labor Day, there’s little a friend of 15 years could do to make me break up with him or her.
• The grass only looks greener if you’re already on the fence.
• I’ve never been a size 5 and never will be. But if you’ve seen Beautiful Girls, you know that Rosie O’Donnell is right–God’s a fair guy and ladies with French Canadian asses generally wind up proportionally curvy.

These, Universe, are the kinds of things I can count on in life. There are more, of course, but now I think I’m down one. Regardless of whether the premise changed for better or worse–opinions do vary–it’s a dramatic shift for anyone, rather like waking up to a green sky. Nothing wrong with a green sky (if you’re amphibious), but it does take a minute for the eyes to adjust.

If you’re color blind and can’t see the difference, I suppose that’s a whole different issue.

So thanks, Universe, for turning a thing or two cattywompus every now and then to make us check our premises. Next time, though, I would prefer a gentler transition.

Yours,
Jen