Fill Her Up

A man goes to his doctor and says, “Doctor I don’t feel so good, and everyone around me is extremely disagreeable.” The doctor gives him some medication and tells him to return in a month. A month later, the man returns, and the doctor asks him, ”How do you feel now?” The man replies, “I still don’t feel so good, but everyone around me is getting much nicer.” 

Some people approach life with a half empty glass, while others have a glass that is half full.  I’m just glad to have a glass. 

A woman who moved to my neighborhood from Australia told me that she didn’t like Australians.  I told her, “I have met several Australians and I like them very much.” She replied, “They have to behave when they aren’t in their own country.” Then I traveled to Australia and discovered that Australians are very pleasant people---even on their own turf.  I said to one man in Sydney, “Why are you Australians so friendly?” He replied, “Because we live so far away from everyone that we have to be nice when you come to visit.” 

The same woman who didn’t like Australians moved to Florida when she first came up from “Down Under”, and she also didn’t like Floridians.  Then she moved to my neighborhood where she really hated everyone. People were glad when she moved away because she took herself with her. 

I’ll admit it. I am a people person. I like most people. For a few years, my son lived in Wisconsin. I like people from Wisconsin. The ones I have met are upbeat kind and friendly. It must be that entire delicious cholesterol-producing dairy that makes them mellow.  I also like Canadians. They are sensible and calm and laugh a lot, because their banks managed to stay out of trouble while ours were emptying our glasses as well as our wallets. I even like New Yorkers. 

My son used to live in New York City. He warned me about New Yorkers: “Look, Mom, this time when you come to New York and we ride the subway, please don’t talk to people. It’s New York. You get on the subway. You get off the subway. You don’t talk to people. People in New York don’t talk. Don’t even make eye contact! You think I’m kidding? There was an article in the Times about a corpse that rode the train at rush hour. The guy rode for 45 minutes and 20 stops before anyone told the police.”  I replied, “Obviously, no one made eye contact with him.”  

Naturally, I didn’t take his advice. Some people along the way have put a few chips into my glass, but no one has broken it yet. 

Esther Blumenfeld (optimist but no fool)