But tonight something crystallized deep within the adjectivian matrix that is my mind. I knew that this was it. I have walked through the door of enlightenment. There will be no more significant personal growth for me for I now own a doormat. And I'm not talking about some metaphorical doormat of inner peace placed before the door of enlightenment. I'm talking about an actual, real world, bristly doormat. Sweet action!
Actually, I've owned a doormat for about two weeks now. But it was only tonight that the significance dawned on me. This is my first doormat. Now. At the age of you know what
All my life I've used the doormats of other people. My parents' doormats, one after another. Since leaving home I've lived in an endless blur of rented houses, each of which came with a doormat. And never did I give any thought to it. But this house, this temple of grownuphood, had no doormat. We kept tracking in leaves and dirt. And finally I said, "Enough!"
Well, it was my Smaller Half that said "Enough!" - I tend to be pretty hopeless about noticing stuff like that. But I like to think that I would have noticed in time.
So we ventured forth and bought a doormat. We could have spent that money on coffee or music or books or toy soldiers or funky retro lamps or other fun stuff like that. But instead we invested it in our future. Our future of clean floors. That's the sort of thing that grownups do. And you know what? It felt pretty good.
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Did you take your new doormat on holiday with you? Or does that have to wait until you get superanuation, buy a caravan and become a grey nomad?
No, we didn't take our doormat away with us. And a good thing too! It would probably have tipped us over our bag limit for our Tiger flight. We had 14.9 kilos and the limit was 15. My Smaller Half's shopping was thus limited to 100 grams of acquisitions.
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