I hate “bittersweet”.
I hated walking through Union Square this afternoon and stopping dead in my tracks when I saw an Irish Setter puppy in the dog run who reminded me too much of my dog Shimmer as a pup in the early ’70s. I hated standing there with my shopping bags, tears filling my eyes as I watched the pup’s “dad” tossing two blue tennis balls to him and saw the long-limbed, thinly-fringed tailed, floppy-eared pup gleefully gambolling toward me. I hated wanting to take a picture of the adorable little guy so I could look at it on my monitor and cry over it later tonight after everyone else was asleep.
And I hated walking away.
I hate “bittersweet”. It only works for me when it’s chocolate.