Reaching back into the dusty archives of my brain, I realize there’s still maybe a story or two that I haven’t written down (and a quick search on the Mess reveals I’m not too far off on the actual count). I know, I know, if I just went outside and interacted with people instead of holing up in my special cave world where light is afraid to shine, I might have more to share, but as all my little mole friends know – the outside is SCARY.
Right, you’re here for a story and not necessarily my idiosyncrasies (those are called “bonuses” or “perks”).
This is about Tarot and no, it’s not about that very strange reading Anna had in Jackson Square or the tarot reader who eavesdropped on my mother as she sat on the woman’s porch (mysteriously all the made-up facts Mom shared with her friend that accompanied her appeared in that reading). No, it’s not that. It’s not even my reading, because if it were my reading, I would do the reading and I’m a bit of a hack reader who can make a lovely Celtic Cross, but then sits back with a book going “ok, that there represents “change” and umm… “Page of Swords” *flip**flip* hrmmm, I see.”
This is about someone else’s reading and how they shared that information.
“Beth, I had my cards read last night.”
“We decided that one bit had to do with you.”
“Really. How so?”
“Well, the cards said that there was someone in my life who was supposed to sing my praises.”
“And we decided that was you.”
“I’m supposed to sing your praises?”
“Yes, you know – celebrate the things I do.”
“That’s what the cards said?”
“And what are YOU going to do for ME?”
“Well, if I’m standing around clapping for you, I really want to know what YOU are going to do for ME.”
“The reading wasn’t about you.”
This went back and forth for some time until I crushed this person’s dreams of having her very own happy, dancing, applauding little minion. She really tried her hardest to make me understand that the reading was not about me, so therefore I shouldn’t be expecting anything – well, other than the sheer joy of cheering and praise singing. That I refused to accept the divine word of a deck of cards bossing me around completely stunned her, and this was quickly followed by a good round of sulking.
Something about the whole exchange reminds me of Monty Python’s Holy Grail “… Oh, but you can’t expect to wield supreme executive power just because some watery tart threw a sword at you! …but if I went ’round sayin’ I was Emperor, just because some moistened bint lobbed a scimitar at me, they’d put me away!” Just substitute “deck of cards” or “poorly illustrated blobs of paper” wherever you see a reference to a sword. As in: You can’t expect me to perform like some genuflecting awe filled dancing monkey just because some watery tart threw out some poorly illustrated blobs of paper at you.
Anyway, there you have it. This is easily in my top 10 favorite exchanges. Sadly, I have to say that our friendship didn’t last much longer thanks to my inability to embrace my true subservient praise singing fate. Shame on me. I guess that part wasn’t in the cards. (rim shot… sorry, I had to – I’m not proud)