I brake for crying.

Last time I wrote, I’d taken Jett to the vet. I took her today, too, to get her second Lyme vaccination and meet Dr. Andrew. (He adopted one of Cleo’s pups, so we are a favorite family.) He was pretty pleased with everything about her. You could feel all the instant, genuine love for our new dog, and that’s why I’ve never changed vets in all these years.

On the drive over, I feel a little down. I’m in a brand new car I can’t afford, I have a job interview tomorrow, and I am scheduled for a possible biopsy on Thursday. So much potential change in life, so much unknown, and a big extra expense. I’m sulking a bit, listing the things I have to do today and the amount of money it will cost—tag return ($4), duplicate title ($50), groceries ($70), vet $44).

A pickup truck is stopped at a light in front of me, and I notice a whole lot of white type on the back window. It reminds me of the sticker with the boy peeing; I see that on lots of trucks like this. So I assume it’s humor. The first line is kind of touching: “I’m looking for someone special.” The last line, I see, is a phone number, and I think: this is an odd way to find a wife!

The light changes, and we move, and I find myself trying to read the funny sticker. It’s long—about seven lines—and I think I’m seeing words like “lonely” and “love” and “life.” In fact, I’m sure this person is asking for someone to “save his life.” Now it’s a preoccupation. I have to read that sticker. Finally, we stop again, and I see one of the lower lines, which says something like, “I know it’s a lot to ask, but it’s my husband.”

The driver wasn’t looking for love in all the strange places. She was looking for a kidney to save her husband’s life.

No matter how bad it sometimes is, it’s hardly ever that bad.

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