Last night, one of my co-workers asked me to show her to be as happy as I am. 

“Surprised” doesn’t adequately describe it. 

I don’t really think of myself as an overly happy person, but I guess that I am.  I have a wonderful wife, a healthy son, a decent job, and so on.  I think that mostly what she was referring to was my good mood at work.  Despite wanting to wound many of the customers, I was having a reasonably good night.  I try to take pleasure in the little things.  I am alternately amused and dumbfounded at some of the questions people ask, and I game-ify every task I can.

I ended up telling her, “I’ll show you how to enjoy the little things if you show me how to be creative on demand.”  I have been having trouble giving life to ideas lately, and she had just had an art show.  She replied that it involved late nights and lots of wine.  Ugh.  I can already do late nights, and I can drink and write with no problem.  I don’t really like drinking anymore though, because I never have time to be drunk.  Maybe it’s a sign that I’m getting old.

So I didn’t tell her the secret of my happiness.  Which is fine – I’m not sharing my wife, and anything else I came up with would be kind of a lie.

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