Wednesday, I was happy. Really happy.
Like, I was listening to George Michael at work and singing. Out. Loud.
I was funny. I was bubbly. I was beaming. I was nice. I smiled. A lot.
Oh, I also had great hair because I spent like an hour blow drying it all pretty the night before (I shower at night. Don't judge. It's awesome.)
And plenty of people commented on how amazing my hair looked. They said stuff like, "The way your hair shimmers...and the movement and bounce...you should be in a commercial."
Just kidding. Mostly they said, "Your hair looks really good. Did you have something done?" But I girl-scout-swear that I got at least 3 heartfelt hair compliments. Has that ever happened to you? On a Wednesday?
But my warped brain translated those comments into the whole commercial comment.
It was a great day and I was in a great mood.
But there's a problem with being happy.
It is socially unacceptable.
Don't believe me? Try it.
I was repeatedly asked why I was so happy. I didn't have a reason. Aside from the great hair, nothing was out of the ordinary. People kept asking me what was going on...in a loaded, suspicious way. Like I must have secretly won the lottery or discovered I was pregnant or heard that George Michael was straight.
It is unacceptable to be happy. But I did it unabashedly, dammit.