Valentine's Day for Married People

Student: "Coach Schrater, what do you think Cody will get you for Valentine's Day?

Me: Probably some flowers and whatever random stuff he can come up with beyond that.

Student: “Don’t you think it will be something extra special since it’s your first Valentine’s Day married?

Me: No.

This conversation took place this morning in the midst of my kids repeating the weather forecast ten times within a forty-five minute class period. When I immediately assumed that there would be nothing special happen for Valentine’s Day this year, I realized Cody and I have done a pretty sub-par job of being extra sweet in our first year of marriage. We are seven-ish months into marriage at this point. But perhaps more importantly, we are very near six years of being in a relationship. I always wonder what it would be like if we would have gotten married sooner. I see couples who get married who have been together maybe a year or two and I can tell that their dynamic is different than mine and Cody’s. Nonetheless, I still think that Cody and I have done a less than great job at making our first year of marriage special. We are pretty much in the routine of work, hang out, sleep, work, hang out, sleep. We throw in an occasional movie or television show. Nothing too crazy.

I think I have always known that this type of routine is inevitable in any relationship. And my mom always told me, soak up all the good stuff that Cody does for you now, because once you’re married, it will all end. And as is the case most often, my mom is right. Things are pretty boring in the Prater household. I would like to argue that we do have an awesome trip planned this summer which is very noteworthy. I would also like to make note that our routine is very comforting and calming to me. I would also like to go out on a limb and assume that Cody would argue that he doesn’t do sweet, ridiculously nauseating things for me anymore, because “you don’t like surprises” or “you would rather plan it anyway.” While these things are both true, I sometimes miss the days when Cody didn’t know I don’t like surprises and hadn’t accepted my need for control of every tiny detail of my daily life. I appreciated the Cody who used to be wide-eyed and crazy in love to the point of risking embarrassment for me. My most beloved Valentine’s Day involved Cody writing a poem (“I Carry Your Heart With Me” by e.e. cummings) in sidewalk chalk from my apartment door to the campus center at school where a huge pink sign hung reading: “Katy Schrodt, will you be my Valentine?” I melted. I knew he loved me. I just knew it.

So, I have come to this conclusion. I am probably partly to blame for Cody’s lack of really sweet things like he used to do. I realize that I am hard to please for a guy like Cody who never thinks of all of the details that need to be ironed out. I also tell myself that I have probably broken Cody’s will to be sweet anymore, because he knows that when he screws stuff up, I’ll complain. Nonetheless, I am making a vow today to be sweet for the remainder of February (screw March). Not because Valentine’s Day is coming up, but mainly because it’s the shortest month anyway and we’re already on the 8th day. I am going to do something sweet for Cody for the rest of these days. It may be a very small gesture. It may be something that Cody doesn’t even realize (I contend that I do Cody’s laundry on a regular basis and cook meals much more often than he does which are both sweet), but I will still do them. I am going to start with a list of all of the reasons I still and always will love CP…

1. He takes out the garbage.
2. He is responsible for paying the majority of the bills we have.
3. He looks really good naked.
4. He wants to go to Europe with me and let me plan and over plan and plan again every moment of every day we’re there.
5. He helps take care of the dogs.
6. He comes to all the volleyball games I coach.

Okay, I am sure there are more, but that’s as far as I got. That’s a really lame list of reasons why I love him. I’ll keep working on this. And until then, here’s a throwback to a much simpler moment in time. I plan to reenlist the 19 year old kid who slowly walked to class that day trying to pretend that she wasn’t head over heels in love with the crazy guy who took the time to write a love poem on a sidewalk. May I always love the crazy guy…and may he always want to write love poems on sidewalks. For me.

I carry your heart

I carry your heart with me (I carry it in
My heart) I am never without it (anywhere
I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
By only me is your doing, my darling)

I fear
No fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want
No world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
And it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
And whatever a sun will always sing is you

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(Here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
And the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
Higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
And this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)

e.e. cummings

Tennis Shoes to Cow Poo

Okay, so I have a confession. If there was ever a dream of mine, it would be to be a writer. Like a I-make-money-by-writing-random-thoughts-that-come-to-my-mind-in-a-witty-irresistible-style-that-everyone-loves writer. I am intrigued by any “job” that doesn’t require you to answer to a boss or show up at a specific time of day. I want a job like that so badly. So, one of the things I do in my spare time occasionally is read blogs or books of people who are obviously in the aforementioned category of writer. I want to know what they do that allows them to be a writer.

My most recent research project has been the one and only Pioneer Woman. I have heard people (i.e. Katie) talk about the PW before. I have even cooked (gasp, I know) a few of her recipes that have been quite delicious. I have even just recently purchased her most recent book Black Heels to Tractor Wheels. I have read her writing. I appreciate the way she writes and I can recognize why people everywhere would be attracted to it. I think it’s a little cheesy for my taste, but to each his…her own.

Anyway, I am on page 62 in her book which recounts her magical, fairtytale-ish love story of her and Marlboro Man..I’m not sure about the nickname for her husband quite yet…again, a little cheesy. Anyhow, I have read about the PW and her graduation from college and unlikely meeting with Marlboro Man thereafter. I have lived through the first kiss and silly moments between the two of them. I have muddled through the cute, sweet, irresistible beginning of these two people. And sure enough, I found myself sucked in. I was suddenly trying to recount my steps with Cody in those early years of our relationship. I was panicking that I didn’t run over my dog and fall into Cody’s rough, calloused cowboy hands. I was certain that without a chance encounter in a smoky bar and my making a fool of myself in so many ways around Cody years ago, we didn’t stand a chance.

So, I decided only a few moments ago that I wanted to put a face or at least a profile of a face to this Marlboro Man. From the PW’s description I had created some smoldering, delicious man who I would undoubtedly see and suddenly understand all of the to-do over her love story. I visited her website to find that she furthers the mystery of the Marlboro Man by never showing his face exactly. So I bypassed all of the hoops of her blog and googled the guy. As I sat here looking at all of the pictures of this guy, I realized I have nothing to worry about. Cody is my Marlboro Man if the magical man for the PW is the guy in the pictures without the hat and Wrangler’s on. I don’t even like Wrangler’s. And the guys is not as good looking as the person I had created in my head after reading the book. And then I realized what has happened…

The success of The Pioneer Woman is not because her husband is super hot and that her life is so thrilling that she could write any tiny thing about her existence and it would be a hit. The success of this chick comes from the fact that she’s a writer. A person who understands who’s she’s writing to and tailors those words for every sappy woman who ever dreamt of marrying someone unexpected and being swept off their feet in the world of unknown comfort simply because he is there. So, here’s to you Pioneer Woman. For getting me to buy your book and google your husband. And for getting me to appreciate the guy that I have in my life. And for writing a blog that makes you tons and tons and tons of money. Perhaps one day I will find my niche the same way the PW has done.

But I have to sayI hope I don’t have to move to the country and start cooking to make my dream a reality. Tennis Shoes to Cow Poo doesn’t really have the same ring anyway.

Vegetable Oil Wrestling and Life Lessons

One of my first experiences with Cody that has stuck with me for years dealt with vegetable oil wrestling. Now, I realize you are probably asking yourself..what do you mean by vegetable oil wrestling? Do you mean people would get really drunk in a small house with tarps over the nasty shag carpet and minimal clothing on and literally wrestle in vegetable oil? That's exactly what I mean.

I remember when we were freshmen Cody encouraged me to come to a party where there was going to be vegetable oil wrestling. I logically had never heard of, much less actually seen anyone vegetable oil wrestle (or maybe even just wrestle) but Cody was pumped about this. I remember attending the party with some of my friends. I found myself standing against the wall watching all sorts of people roll around in vegetable oil, nearly naked, groping one another, slamming each other against the wall, slipping and sliding..and having an all around great time it seemed. I remember declining Cody's incessant pleas to wrestle with him. I think I used volleyball as an excuse. I claimed I didn't want to get hurt, but I really just didn't want to step out of the box. I have never been a person to step out of the box without hesitation. I don't want to be embarrassed. I don't want to make a fool of myself. I don't want do anything that I didn't have previously scheduled. I'm a stick in the mud. I know this.

This experience early on in college was luckily the beginning of a bit of a revolution for me. The more I spent time with new people doing new things, the more I have learned to be a little more spontaneous. I would attribute a lot of this to Cody. The rest of it is probably just a little bit of growing up.

Now, how in the world does this story about vegetable oil wrestling deal with present day? Cody and I are going to go to Europe this summer. And this is a bit out of character for me. Not because I don't like to travel, but because it is going to require me to accept that some things cannot be controlled when I am in a foreign country for nearly two weeks. There will be stuff that happens that we don't plan. We will screw stuff up and not be able to figure out where to go or when to go there. Things will happen that I don't see coming. And I will be okay with those things. The older I get, the more I understand that sometimes the best memories are made when you don't mean to. It's the screw ups that are the most memorable and that's okay. Cody and I are going to hop on a plane and go somewhere new and live it up. While we're young enough to walk and without children. We are going to travel and have fun so that we don't have to refer to how we once thought about going to Europe. The way we still refer to when we (I) almost wrestled in vegetable oil.

2010 in a Nutshell...A Big Nutshell

At the urging of the Cody Prater, I have decided to write a blog about the soon to be over 2010. I'm not one for recapping a year. I never really think of the year ending in December because I am faced with 4 more months of school still at this point. My year ends in May, but for the sake of the rest of you non-educators, I'll give in to the whole January 1st thing.

Every year around this time, I find myself a little down about life. Generally, I am faced with New Year's resolution making that I don't really do, but am still forced to consider all of the things I should change or fix or start doing in the first place. I am also a little bummed around New Year's because I think it's somewhat sad to know that another year of my life has come and gone. I realize lots of really cool stuff has happened, but I am also forced to accept that my past keeps getting larger. I hate being reminded that life is leaving us...me. It's a downer I know. I'm supposed to be thankful for all that lies ahead of me. I should be appreciative that I have my health and numerous blessings to count. I am supposed to raise my glass to the positive milestones in each year and in preparation for the year ahead. And I do all of those things..I just do them with the nostalgic subdued nature I find myself in when another year has gone by.

However much I hate to see a year pass, I cannot help but be a little relieved to wave goodbye to 2010. In this year I have hopped numerous hurdles that literally exhaust me to think back on now. For instance, Cody and I bought a home in 2010. I love where we live now. I enjoy decorating it and buying new stuff to make it better. We have improved our home and really made it our own. But I can't tell you I would want to do it all over again. It's been a journey certainly.

Cody and I also got our two fur babies in this year. There were some rough dog moments in this year. We are out a pair of glasses, a coffee table, numerous pairs of socks and underwear, a watch, and various other items we probably haven't found yet. But as we are soon to celebrate Staley and Finny's 1st birthday, I can't help but be filled with love for our little nuggets. They certainly have made themselves an irreplaceable part of the Prater pack.

On a personal note, this year was filled with some interesting happenings. Professionally, I had a successful volleyball season. Coaching volleyball is probably something that means more to me than I verbalize or write about very often. From June to the end of October I find myself immersed in something that is so familiar and fun for me to do. I felt like I was a better coach this year than I was last year, and I hope this pattern continues into 2011. Hopefully, a few kids in Lavaca are better in some way after experiencing the wrath of Coach Schrodt/Prater for a few months each year.

And finally, the one thing that I am so glad that I will leave behind in 2010 is our wedding. It was great. I'm so glad we did it. I love the pictures. I love Cody. We have been married for all of 6 months now and I am as happy as the day we made it official. I am really happy to be married. I am also really happy to never have to plan and execute my own wedding ever again. Ever.

Each year around October I have my students in class create a narrative writing project that focuses on their own lives. One of the assignments within the project is to create a bucket list or life list. This year I found myself in front of a group of 14 year olds reading the same bucket list I created three years ago when I started teaching. As I went through the things I once dreamed of accomplishing, I found that numerous of them were completed. I own my own car, a home, I am married, I have a couple of dogs, I am financially independent. I have completed a lot of the things that only a few years ago I was hoping to accomplish one day. I realize that 2010 is probably the year of milestones for me.

I stored my bucket list in a folder on my desk when we were through with the project in October. The other day when I was cleaning my classroom, I came across that folder and realized that I need a new bucket list. As I marked off achievements of this year, I realized that all of the college kid Katy Schrodt aspirations are for the most part shed. In this year, I feel as if I have transformed from the kid that I was for the first couple years out of college into an adult. With a life. And a husband. And a home. And bills. The one thing that I think is weird about leaving behind the goals of yesterday is finding my way to new goals. I no longer need to achieve the really big things I once dreamed of doing. After all of the accomplishments were checked off my bucket list, I found myself sitting in my classroom staring at only a few items left. I still need to go back to Europe. I need to win a state championship as a coach. And I need to have children. My own children. That Cody and myself would create. That I would carry for 9 months. That I would squeeze out of my birth canal. That I would support with our money. That would live in our house. Whose car seat would be in my car. Whose life would intermingle with the rest of the Prater pack. And who would forever alter all of the newly accomplished milestones of 2010...I realized that day in my classroom that producing offspring is the main big thing left. And I also realize that kids are bigger than owning a home or getting married. Much bigger...At least there's always 2012, right?

Nonetheless, here's to a year of goodness. A year with family and friends. A year of accomplishments. Here's to my 7th New Year's Eve with Cody. Here's to the year ahead. And the year behind us. 2010 has been good. It's one for the record books.

The Hat Store

Every time Christmas/really cold weather rolls around, I’m always reminded of Cody and me years ago. I guess some of the best moments we have had together happened when it was winter time (remember this statement later in this blog).
This weekend Cody and I went to Dallas for his company Christmas party. During our four hour drive, we had an interesting conversation about our relationship, and the way it has progressed over these almost six years we’ve been together. I learned a lot from this conversation about Cody and me as a couple and also about Cody as an individual. I realized after talking to him that I don’t give Cody enough credit. Because he is so relaxed and easy to get along with, I occasionally attribute this attitude to indifference. I always assume that Cody doesn’t really over analyze much of anything and instead just goes with the flow. The longer I have known him, the more I guess that he doesn’t really care about stuff that I think about a lot. Cody’s easy-going attitude sometimes frustrates me and leaves me a bit unfulfilled on occasion.

One of the weirdest parts about being married I have determined is that your husband (in my case at least) assumes the role that used to be filled by females. For instance, Cody and I hang out the way I used to hang out with friends who were girls. I’m not saying I don’t have any friends anymore. I just think that marriage lends itself to making married people one another’s fulfillment of many different roles. Cody is my husband, boyfriend, friend, caretaker, lover, handyman (Cody will want to insert a joke here), financial consultant, entertainment, etc. The different roles that we fill for one another are endless. I don’t think that this is necessarily a trait of marriage specifically, but certainly of relationships where people live together. In the past few months, I have found myself wishing Cody was sometimes more like a girl. When things happen that I want to analyze and talk about and reanalyze and talk about some more, I have found that Cody wants to watch ESPN. Don’t get me wrong, I love ESPN. I just occasionally wish that Cody wanted to analyze and evaluate the way I do on a regular basis.

Okay, so back to the point…I realized this weekend that Cody may not verbalize his thoughts and feelings like women, but he at least has those thoughts and feelings. I like knowing that Cody has analyzed and thought out the experiences we’ve had together just like I have. I like knowing that some of Cody’s indifference is probably a partial disconnect between the two of us. After I considered this for a while, I realized that Cody probably has these exact same thoughts about some of the same things I do. At some point in our Dallas drive discussion, Cody said he felt “like a weight had been lifted off his chest.” I realize now that I am not all that Cody needs or wants or wishes for all the time either. That thought seems fairly simple, but I realized that I never really consider Cody as having any emotional needs. This brings us back to the indifference perception I’ve had about him. I always think of our marriage in terms of me. I realized this weekend that I need to consider the we in Cody and me more often.

I know now that the next step in this process is for me to relay this conversation to my closest friends (just kidding, sort of). Yet, I know that I will not be able to communicate the meaningfulness of this conversation to people who haven’t been there for six years. And I come back to the solace that Cody is the only person who has been there in all of the ways he has been there for all these years. This thought process brought me back to all of the moments along the journey of Cody and Katy that have really stood out to me. One in particular seemed fitting considering the topic of much of what was shared in the Dallas Drive Discussion of 2010 (yah, the event has a proper name now).

One year in college during Christmas break, I had gone “home” to my parent’s house (across town). I think this was the Christmas of our freshman year which would mean soon to be 2005. Anyhoo, it snowed around the holidays that year, and I was barricaded in my home as usual (my mother acts like driving on slick roads is as impossible as walking on water). To my surprise, Cody and his friend Mitch braved the weather in Cody’s blue jeep to come and hang out with me. We all three found ourselves in my bedroom hanging out (awkward, I know). This was at a point when Cody and I were dating, I guess you would say, but we were not officially together. Before the end of the night, Mitch had fallen “asleep” (I think he was just a good friend to Cody and recognized CP’s opportunity to mess around with his new girl) on the floor of my room. Cody and I stayed up and talked and laughed and had a memorable night with one another. I found myself in the room where so many nights had been spent thinking about the unsuccessful male relationships I had endured throughout the years. All around me was high school, but right in front of me was Cody. I didn’t know that Cody would last as long as he did. I didn’t know that Cody would be my husband one day. But I did know that Cody was different than any guy who littered the pictures that hung on the walls of that bedroom. It was perfect. It was a transition from high school to college. It was a transition from being somewhat interested in Cody to knowing that he was someone that I really wanted to know better. It was a transition from “talking” to Cody to being with Cody. We did not officially become boyfriend and girlfriend, but the night was worth noting. As they left, I remember watching Cody and Mitch slide down the street I grew up on and never feeling so good about anything in my life. I remember walking back inside and immediately wishing Cody would show back up (no offense, Mitch. I didn’t really miss you much). I remember thinking that Cody was exactly what I needed at that moment. He wasn’t too much of anything. And he was just enough to differentiate him from high school. Cody has always been just enough.

As we drove home from Dallas this weekend, I realized that Cody and I have probably traveled a somewhat different road than a lot of young people who fall in love. We followed rules that most people simply push to the side as ideas that are unrealistic. Years later and a wedding later, I think Cody and I can both wonder “what if” about us, but it doesn’t matter. This weekend clarified for me that Cody and I are very much on the same wave length. Since we have been married, I feel like so much has changed that I have psyched myself into thinking that something should feel changed as well. I thought we should be different than we used to be. I have certainly over thought the concept of marriage. I think I have been wrong. We are still as connected (if not much more) than those kids making out on my bed five years ago. Cody and I are exactly the way we are supposed to be. We may not always have what we need at the exact moment we need it, but we will eventually find our way there. We wear all the hats we need to wear for one another. And if we don’t…I am confident we’ll find the hat store.

Untitled

I recently had a person (who shall remain nameless) remark on how much she loved my blog. She then went on to provide me with her philosophy on blogging. She told me that she thought it was so “pretentious” of “all these people” who blog about these really deep topics and try to pretend like they’re teaching a lesson or something. In response I told her I thought it was pretentious of people to blog about what color they’re painting their wall or a weekend recap in which they recap nothing at all or an update on their weight loss progress. I’m not sure if this person was trying to call me pretentious, but I figure I’ve been called worse.

In honor of a lover of my blog, here’s a very pretentious post about death.

Last Thursday I attended a memorial service (different than a funeral I found out) for one of my relatives. I hate funerals. I knew that going into the day. I also found out that I hate memorial services. I know, I know. You’re thinking that it’s not anything too unique to dislike funerals. I get this, but I really hate funerals. As I sat in the front row of Eastside Baptist Church I started to realize why I hate funerals so much. Aside from the obvious and most dominant reason (someone has died that I was obviously connected with in some way), I think I also hate funerals, because it is an in-your-face reminder that life is flying by right in front of your face.

As I generally do when I attend a funeral, last Thursday I found myself trying to occupy my mind with something other than depressing thoughts about the loss of a loved one. As I sat there looking at flowers and critiquing Christmas decorations and considering how uncomfortable my shoes were, I realized that Eastside was the setting for one of the most vivid memories I have from high school. Early in high school I saw a band called Stephen Speaks perform in the exact same sanctuary where the funeral was held last Thursday. For some reason I remember everything about that night. I remember what jeans I was wearing. I remember who all was there. I remember where in the sanctuary I was sitting. I remember everything about that night. I have been in Eastside twice in my life. Once for that Stephen Speaks concert and once for the funeral. I found myself (in an attempt to detach myself from the terribly sad commentary that is often found at a funeral) thinking back on all the tiny details of that night in high school. I literally felt like I was remembering someone else’s life. It felt so long ago to me. The teenager sitting in the first pew of that church seemed completely foreign to the adult that was sitting in that first pew years later.

I feel like people (or maybe it’s just me) remember their lives in decades. I have a pretty good grasp of who I was up to 10 years ago. Beyond 14 years old memories almost feel inaccessible to me now. For example, I don’t remember what I looked like when I was 12. I remember very little of the small stuff from years and years ago that I still remember about high school. As I considered that night with Stephen Speaks years ago, something a switch flipped inside of me. I didn’t want to be sitting in that pew at that church last Thursday. I didn’t want to have to remember who I was as a teenager. For a few moments I wanted to be a teenager again. I was frustrated and sad and there was depressing music already playing. People were crying (I assume for the loss of a loved one) and then it hit me…
I don’t hate funerals solely because of the pain caused by losing a loved one. I hate funerals because they’re a reminder to everyone that time is ticking. It took a sunny day in 2010 to bring me back to a night years ago when things were simpler. As I scanned the room last week I realized that there is hardly anything left of that kid at the Stephen Speaks concert. I was sitting next to my husband. My family was there, yes. But it was an older, different family than I knew years ago. The whole situation was different than I wanted it to be. Discomfort in my reality often times makes me think back to the safety of my past. Things were good at that Stephen Speaks concert. Although I am certain that if you could talk to Katy Schrodt circa 2002, she would have plenty of issues and complaints about her present situation (would that not be awesome to be able to talk to a younger or older version of yourself?). Things are always different once you have enough time to find a place for them in your memory. I hate change. I take comfort in the routine of certainty. Unfortunately, as is evident by funerals of loved ones, very little is certain. That’s a bummer. It’s a bummer for 24 year old me and it was also for the teenage me. Maybe less has changed than I think.

By the time I walked out of the funeral, I had pretty much come full circle (in my defense it was a long service). I got caught up in the suckiness of a funeral. There is nothing good about it. I realized that my life is going to keep on moving regardless of whether or not I want it to. Since then Cody and I have decided that we want to go to Europe this summer and sow our wild oats. So maybe that’s the good in remembering someone else’s well lived life. Maybe it helps the rest of us to remember to keep on moving.

Take that, you non-pretentious blog writers.

You Must Be a Biker

I have been a bit challenged with coming up with topics to write about lately. There has been plenty of stuff happening, I just haven’t found anything that would transfer to a blog very well. However, yesterday I went to Wal-Mart and was checked out by a large black woman named Tabitha. Tabitha provided me a lovely experience that could only happen in Wal-Mart that reminded me of a perfect topic to address on the internet…
Tabitha: “Oh, you must be a biker.”
Me: (look of confusion, consideration of what she means by “biker”) “Why’s that?”
Tabitha: “You’re glasses. They look like you [sic] a biker.”
Me: “Oh, ok. I’m not.” (starting to get a little annoyed because it’s Wal-Mart and for some reason all Wal-Mart employees check out items at the rate of 1 item per 10 seconds.)
Tabitha: “You one of those stern people. What you do? You a drill sergeant?”
Me: “Nope. I teach English and coach.”
Tabitha: “Oh, I could see that. You be screaming at those kids like ‘do this, go faster, do this.’”
Me: “Yah, I guess so.” (finally I’m waiting on my receipt, slowly starting to walk away)
Tabitha: “What kind of bike you got?”
This was the conversation I had as I was trying to leave Wal-Mart. The reason I found this intriguing was because A. Tabitha thought I drove a motorcycle because of the blue glasses I got in St. Martin (not exactly biker glasses) B. Tabitha asked me if I was a drill sergeant.
I get this type of question ALL of the time. I have random strangers tell me to “Smile” on a regular basis. People ask me if I’m “okay” all the time. My kids make sarcastic remarks about me looking “excited” about stuff. I don’t get this. I never think to tell someone to smile or cheer up or look excited. If they don’t look excited, they probably aren’t. Who am I to think that I should tell someone how to look? Also, I am confused as to why people ask me these things. No, I do not walk around with a big, goofy grin on my face all the time. On a regular basis, I am not generally happy. On a random Tuesday afternoon at Wal-Mart when all I want to do is go home, it doesn’t come naturally to me to smile at every human I see. I smile when I think something is funny. I don’t smile just because I am so delighted to exist that every moment I must grin. I have determined that my natural demeanor is not one of happiness. At the same time, just because I am not smiling, that does not mean that I am upset about something. It means I am indifferent. At Wal-Mart, I am indifferent. At work, I am generally indifferent. Early in the morning, I am ALWAYS indifferent. The look on my face is one of neutrality. I believe that if I smile all of the time, my smile will have less meaning. It’s like cuss words. I don’t cuss all the time. I save a few select cuss words for those moments in my life where I really need to make an impact. I don’t want to cry wolf with my smile. I figure I will save it for experiences that make me want to smile. So, no, I am not upset. And yes, I am okay. And no, I am not excited. I will certainly let you know when I am unhappy about something. I will also make a point to look happy when I am. All the rest of you smile-whores out there, stop asking me these weird questions.