The High Road Is Not Easy

My Facebook friends have been posting some extremely funny comments about the upcoming Presidential election. I’ve sworn off sharing my own opinions on this on Facebook. Too many friends of a different political persuasion have added snarky remarks to my posts.

I recently made the following comment on a political cartoon on someone else’s page.

Oh snap. Glad I had deadlines the last few days and have been taking a break from CNN. Trying to stay on the high road is like having to pee something fierce, but there’s no bathroom nearby, and you’re forced to walk around with your knees pressed tightly together.

After I read what I wrote, I thought: There is definitely a blog post in this. Here then are some other things that staying on the high road is akin to.

It’s like going to confession as a teenager and telling the priest that your sin was that you lied to your parents. Meanwhile, you know you should really confess to what you and Buzzy were doing in the back seat of his car last weekend. But you also know that if you share that, there will be hell to pay. So the guilt is killing you.

Taking the high road is like going to a wine tasting when you’re the designated driver. You can have just a tiny sip of a few of the offerings. Meanwhile your friends are flying high on the Barolo, the Brunello and the Prosecco. You’re following the waiters around the room, eating as many canapés as you can grab off their trays, but you’re still bitter and resentful. Everyone else is having a great time and you… well, you’re committed to taking the dry road.

It’s like finding the quintessential pastry café in Vienna. Your tongue is literally hanging out as your mouth waters over the elegant sweets. Your traveling companions have plates full of the little morsels. You order just herbal tea, because you’ve promised your GP you will not put on one additional ounce during this trip. You’ll keep to 1100 calories a day, pushing toward your goal of losing another ten pounds.

Women who work in Manhattan will appreciate this high-road metaphor. You’re forced to wear five-inch heels every day so you look professional and have more height. What you long for is ballet flats. They’re so much more comfortable. But no; flats are not an option, because you’ve chosen a career on the high-heel road.

The cover story of a recent issue of Time magazine brought to my attention a reason why taking the high road is especially challenging. Those who treasure a well-turned phrase have dozens of zingers careening around in their brain, but on their restricted path, they can’t use any of them. I was particularly inspired by some of late-night-TV comedian Samantha Bee’s bon mots. (She has her own TBS show, Full Frontal.) Because I’m on that high road, I can’t tell you who her target was. You’ll just have to guess.

Remember: I’m not saying these things. “People” are saying them. OK. Not “people;” Samantha Bee. Here are three of her more imaginative aphorisms: “tangerine-tinted trash-can fire,” “screaming carrot demon” and “America’s burst appendix.”

Speaking of bursting, my brain is about to explode. It’s so full of colorful descriptions I’d love to hurl at someone who shall remain nameless. It’s a cruel world. And it’s even crueler up here on that high road.