Ah it must be genetic. For my grandmother was known for looking after the downtrodden and struggling.
Not that I’m as inclined towards altruistic involvement as I want to be, but I do have a leaning towards anything or anyone that/who is at risk of rejection.
Last week I was buying groceries and I chose a beautiful Bromeliad plant to take home. I’ve loved them ever since my sister-in-law gave me one to mark the occasion of my daughter’s birth 21 years ago.
When I got it to the register, the checkout clerk said, “Oh you don’t want this one; it’s bent.”
And I blurted out, “Oh, yes, this is the one for me; I have a particular love of crooked things. Someone’s gotta take home the messed up ones.”
We laughed, and then she said quietly, “Maybe you could take me home. I’m messed up.”
I should have said, beyond the joking tone in which I did say it, “Come on; let’s go!”
I could tell I would have liked her. We could have been messed up together while we admired the Bromeliad.