my last fry?

   So a few days ago Caleb and I were driving around running errands. One of which included picking up some lunch. The only request I had as to the order of our errands was that I wanted lunch last, so that we could take it home and eat.
   We finish all our business, go to Carl's, and then we don't drive home. We drove to a thrift store. I wasn't too happy about that because I already had a great plan for my hot criscut fries, which included cold ketchup and mustard from the house. But in an effort to be a better wife, I decided not to make a big deal out of it. I sat in the car and tried to think of cliches that would go along with my theme of "just let it go".
That's when my mind stumble across this little gem, "Live like you were dying". Seriously, if I lived like I was dying, I would have been really really ticked that Caleb ruined my criscut fantasy. I mean, come on man, this could be my LAST order of fries. EVER. The last time I may ever taste the magic of hot greasy fried potatoes paired with perfectly mixed ketchup and mustard. The very last time my rather small hand will ever oh so gently cradle that lovely mediocre tasting 500 calorie turkey burger, hold the cheese. Diet Coke, I'll take it, so refreshing to my dying body.
   Do you realize how uptight and crazy people would be if they lived by that motto. Live like you were dying. Every thing would be a crisis. Every minute precious. I don't think I would change diapers anymore, cause I definitely don't want to die changing a diaper. For me, every experience of my life would have to be perfect, because it could very well be my last one. I would cry if my extra caramel frappuchino only had some caramel instead of the extra. I would laugh way too hard at things that should only require a humored smile. And if someone gave me a weird look I would say, "Hey, I'm livin' like I'm dying!"
That is until I was told, "calm down sweetheart,  It's Not The End of The World."

Oh, cliches, why are you so contradicting.