It was a mate’s birthday celebration yesterday, so we went off and engaged in a bit of a bowl and munch session. All good fun. When it came time to pay the bill, the one waitress assigned to our party of approximately 25 people was understandably a bit flummoxed. So when it came to my turn to pay, I put in a little effort to ease the stress that was surely building up in her temples by complimenting her on her tattoo. It was some elaborate script work on the insides of her wrist, and when I asked her what it said, she reported: “Everything is perfect, all the time.”
Lovely. That was the only reaction I was at first able to verbally express – “Lovely,” was my reply. And after I made a lame joke about it not being so perfect when you’re waiting on 25 people that are all paying separately for a full meal, plus drinks, I paid my part and sent her on her way a little less stressed.
And once she was gone, I was free to ponder the words that she decided to inscribe on her wrists for all the rest of her days. To me, it’s a translation of the clichéd “fate” or “it’s meant to be”, but reworked with a hint of the sweetest, pig-tailed, cherub’s voice. I loved the innocence to it. I imagined a small child uttering the very same view of the world after being fed and tucked in, with a kiss on the forehead for good measure. It seemed to prompt me to stand back and take an objective look at the world - this grand series of action and consequence. The way it has happened simply is. No matter your view on it. Whether the events of your life have been happy or sad, that is the way the pin-ball has dinged the bell and crashed through the flaps. It can’t be changed, so in effect, it’s all as it should be: perfect, some might say.
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