I was about to tell you about hot dogs.

I’ve told you about my love of hot dogs before, and my fondness hasn’t weakened since then.

In fact, my hot-dog tastin’ palette has probably become more refined.  More in touch with the beyond-ketchup-and-mustard possibilities that a hot dog can be.

This is why I was going to tell you about the hot dog Mecca my brother took us to on our visit to Cleveland.  I was going to tell you about it before Justin came back in the house after he’d supposedly left for work, sheepishly poking his head through the garage door to make sure I’d at least had a few sips of my coffee before sharing his news.

“Remember that trellis that used to surround the propane tank?” he asked.

“Yes…” I said.

“Remember how it fell off so I built a real gate with new trellis?” he asked.

“Yes…” I said.

“Remember how you made me put the old trellis away in the garage? he asked.

“Yes,” I said, “after you’d let it sit in the yard for a month?  That trellis?”

“Maybe.”  He said.  “Well.  It might have fallen over last night and it might have still had nails in it and I might have backed over it with the car on my way out this morning and I might now have 2 flat tires.”

“…”

“OkayILoveYouBye!”

Sigh.

I know there’s a bigger lesson here.  Some metaphor for life about rolling with the punches because that’s just the way it is or any number of country or pop song lyrics that fit the situation.

But most of the time, it’s true.  Shit just happens.

And I could be a Sad Dog.

I could get upset about it — overreact about something over which I have no earthly control — lose my temper and curse the trellis Gods and bitch about how we now have to fork over money to fix the tires or get whole new ones and why now, because it’s so not a good time, but of course it’s never a good time.

And I could cry.  I could cry because pretty much all of the money I made last week, which admittedly isn’t very much, could very likely go to fixing the trellis situation, and why does it seem like we can never get ahead and why even bother going to work if it’s just going to go to stupid shit like tires and it figures this would happen right after I ruined a perfectly good brisket because these things always happen in threes and wait that’s just two things so what’s next?

But really, I just breathe.

Because, while I try not to live life like one of those scared, timid people always waiting for the next iceberg, I expect them.  And it doesn’t make them so bad when they clear the horizon.  They’re not so daunting.  They just are.

I could be a Sad Dog and cry about scraped knees, or I could stand up, dust off, and move on with the good stuff.  The bad stuff — the little bad stuff — doesn’t deserve that kind of attention.

But the good stuff?

The good stuff deserves all kinds of attention.

So stay tuned.