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I am a Living Sitcom!

Wooden-TVOK, so, it is no secret (to those who know me) that I have a problem when it comes to doing tasks and chores around the house. And by “problem” I don’t mean that I am not motivated or that I don’t want to finish a project. I simply mean I have a  great, great tendency to break things. I can’t explain why nor do I understand how it happens. It just does. And sadly, I have too many examples to prove it.

This past summer while I tried to start our lawn mower, I pulled the starter cord I suppose too hard and next thing I knew I was holding the part of the frayed cord in my hand. Yes, I know. That can happen to anyone. I know it has happened to many people, BUT, I’ve managed to do it T-H-R-E-E times in a very short amount of time!! And of course there were the vacuums, the fans and other electrical devises that I’ve ruined. And of course I cannot forget the time I broke the handle off our new refrigerator. Yes, I broke a refrigerator handle too. My partner taped it back together. There is nothing like seeing red duct tape on a black refrigerator as reminder of my talent. My mother in law had a good laugh about that one. After all how many of you can say you’ve accomplished that feat? Well for me, it was as easy as tripping over a cat and falling into the refrigerator handle causing it to pop (halfway) off. Embarrassed about it, I told my family I simply opened the door and it broke. They of course knew better. I never break things that easily and without some kind of outlandish story. I have been the cause of way too many household item’s untimely deaths that it is beyond words. Folks, I could NOT make this stuff up.

I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but sadly each time I’ve destroyed something, there is an amazing story that goes with it. For example, there was the time I caught the oven on fire…roughly about three or four times. One of those times I put a frozen hen into the oven. Yes, I know now you don’t do that but obviously, I was not aware of that fact when I did this. And so, as the hen thawed, the paper (that held the inners) caught on fire. Then, there was the time I tripped and spilled peroxide all over a rug. I thought if I used laundry detergent it would prevent the rug from staining. Well, I failed to read the label which clearly stated it had bleach in it. The bad part? I didn’t know it until after I had doused the rug with it.

Another time I was renting a room in an older couple’s home. I wanted to thank them for their kindness, so I decided to do a little something extra for them. For whatever reason at that time, I felt washing their kitchen floor would be the perfect way. While the wife was at the grocery store and the husband was at workout, I got to work. I was really proud of myself. I had not only scrubbed the floor but I had also made it shine. See, I had found this bottle in their cupboard. The label on it read,  “We make any kitchen floor shine.” I figured if it shined with one coat, if I added three coats, it would shine even better. Once I was done, I was amazed! I thought it looked awesome and I couldn’t wait to surprise especially the wife.  She came home not too much after I had finished. She entered through the front door with two large paper bags of grocery items. I stood off to the side watching her and waiting for her to be surprised. I just knew she’d be over the moon with emotion once she saw what I had done. Well, just as she reached the kitchen and stepped onto the linoleum floor, it was as if she was trying to walk on a sheet of ice. Her feet slid out from underneath her as her grocery bags went sailing into the air. By the time she landed on the floor (on her butt), so did her groceries. I was relieved when I saw the wife was alright, however, her carton of eggs and other delicate grocery items didn’t fare as well. I was so upset. How could such a kind gesture turn out so badly? Where did I go wrong?  WELL, any guesses what it was that I did? You got it. That bottle I saw in the cupboard that had promised to make the floor shine… it turned out to be floor wax! AND the label (which the wife point out to me) clearly stated, “Do not use in high traffic areas as it can be very slippery and can cause injury.”  Now, I must admit that was the worse one. Most of the time it was just the item I ruined. For instance once I used Carol’s meat thermometer as an ice pick. I honestly didn’t know that kept it from being used ever again for it’s original purpose.

Here’s the thing. I just don’t understand how I get myself into these messes. I mean well AND, as hard as I try, I seem to always manage to destroy something. It’s as if I find myself living in an episode of “I Love Lucy.”

OK, so, would you care to hear my latest episode? You’re sure to be entertained…I promise you. AND the best part is there won’t be any commercial interruptions.

SO, recently, we’ve had a lot of rain in our area. I noticed the neighbors were blowing the accumulated pine straw and leaves off of their roofs which got me thinking. Should we be doing the same thing? As new home owners, I don’t know anything. I often go by what others are doing, look it up on the internet and then follow suit if it’s necessary. And so, I looked it up. Many sites recommended and highly suggested removing any debris off your roof. If one doesn’t, it can cause the roof shingles to deteriorate quicker and possibly cause other damage to your roof. AND SO, of course I needed to get off the pine straw that had accumulated on our roof. However, knowing our ladder wasn’t tall enough to allow me to climb on the roof, I knew I’d have to create a different plan. My idea was to place the open ladder as close to the house as I could. Then, I could climb up. Knowing I wouldn’t be able to see the roof top well, my 12 year could help by standing back (to where he could see the roof) and tell me where to aim the blower. Oh, now, don’t worry. I didn’t fall off. This is me. I’d have to do something much more dramatic than simply falling off a ladder. BUT, what I failed to figure into the plan was the ability (or there lack of) of my 12 year old (who in the midst of puberty has a brain of mush). And so this plan did not work out. I needed to be able to see the roof myself.
Just as my 12 year old and I were figuring out plan B…I should say as I was figuring out Plan B because my son’s suggested was to quit… anyway, just as I was thinking my partner, Carol, came outside to see what havoc I was causing. OK, so I need to say this. After almost 20 years together, Carol was well aware that suggesting to me to stop what I was doing that it was NOT going to work. In fact, she knew that would only give me the motivation to do it myself which could possibly cause harm to me, our son, the house or to all of the above. And so, Carol had no choice but to make a suggestion. She recommended  I move the ladder to another spot (that was more sturdy and at a better angle) and while she held the ladder, I could try to go further up the ladder (than I had previously done) so I could see the roof. Now, once again, don’t worry. I didn’t fall off the ladder. By now you can see that would be way too easy for me.  Drama…it has to include more drama than simply falling.
I took Carol’s advice. As she held the ladder I climbed higher allowing me to see the to of the roof. I asked our 12 year old to hand me the blower and with a swooping right to left motion, I tried to blow off all of the pine straw. But, it wasn’t working because it was heavy from the rain. I wasn’t going to give up, though. My thought was if maybe I simply held the blower without moving it left to right, the continuous air would blow the debris away. And so, I aimed the blower and kept it steady. The problem with this was my arm got tired. I had not realized I rested the blower down onto the roof on a shingle until I heard a strange sound coming from the blower. When I looked I realized I had it sitting on the roof and by doing so it had caused the airflow to be blocked. I quickly picked it up and pulled it towards me to check it over. I had no idea what I was doing, but I thought since it was electrical, I should turn it off. Now, how this made since, I don’t know. Because after all, the extension cord was plugged into the blower and was still plugged into the socket on the side of the house. Whatever my rationale, that was what I did. As soon as I flipped the switch to off, something caught my eye inside the blower. Y’ALL! What caught my eye were small flames coming out from the plug area. What was I to do? I panicked and started yelling, “CAROL! CAROL!” I was certain I also yelled, “FIRE!” but she didn’t hear me. All she heard was me calling her name and to that she responded with yelling back, “WHAT? WHAT?”
For a split second I had the thought I could burn down our house. Well, like hell was I going to allow that from happening. We worked too hard to have this house. I had to figure out what to do and quick. As the flame got bigger, I got really scared and that was when I pulled out the industrial plug from the blower. I didn’t even think that I could have burned myself. I just wanted the fire to stop. Well with my luck that of course did NOT solve the problem. The fire was out on the blower but it had transferred to the electrical cord’s plug.  In my head I was yelling as loud as I could for Carol to unplug the cord from the socket on the side of the house BUT I could not get the words out. Of course I wanted to jump off the ladder but even I knew better than trying. It all was happening so fast, Carol still didn’t have a clue as to what was happening. AND our son who did realize it just stood watching.
As the flames began to increase inside the cord (that was attached to our house), something came over me and I threw it. Yes, I threw it. But not only did I throw it but I threw it in Carol’s direction. What the hell was I thinking?  I yelled to her, “WATCH OUT!” I was amazed by how fast she moved even though she had not a clue as to what was happening. Thank goodness the fire went out as the cord fell to the ground. And of course I was able by that point to tell Carol to pull it out of the socket that was against the house. Y’all, I cannot imagine our neighbor’s perspective. I’m sure it was very entertaining.
I am HAPPY to report no one was harmed in the making of this “I’ve done it again” episode. Unfortunately, our blower and our 50ft industrial cord (that I was so proud to have gotten at a yard sale for $5), have both crossed over into the “I’ve, killed another one” pile. May they a-l-l rest in peace.
To think there are people who get paid to come up with stories like these for TV. Gosh! They just need to follow me around because LAWD HELP ME, I am a living sitcom!
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Posted by on November 12, 2015 in Weekly photo challenge

 

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My Confession

Alright folks, I have something I have to confess. At one point in my life it would have been a tough confession to make but now at 42 years old I can embrace this truth and call it what it is. It is who I am. So, are you ready? Well, ready or not, here I go.

I, MaLea Perkison Jr. , hereby admit without question that I am most definitely “weird”. Yep, that’s my admission and I’m sure there are many folks out there (who know me well) who would be willing to confirm this fact. Listen, it isn’t as if I mean to be “weird”. It just happens. Yep for me “weirdness” just happens. I can’t explain it. It comes naturally to me. It’s similar to how some folks have the natural ability to do math or play an instrument. Well in my case I have the propensity to be “weird”. I promise you I’m not exaggerating. Let me give you a few examples.

First, how many of you out there find the urge to save a worm you see in the middle of the road about to be squashed by a car? Would you be willing to stop an oncoming car in order to get the worm to safety? I’m guessing there aren’t many of you out there who would. Well, since I am confessing I must admit I have not only saved many worms from the middle of the road but yes, I have even stopped an oncoming car in order to keep the worm from getting squished. However, does it make me any less “weird” if I told you it was my partner who was the on coming car? No? I didn’t think so.

And if that wasn’t enough of an example to exemplify my “weirdness”, I have more. Yes, lots more!

When I go on my many walks it isn’t unusual for me to keep an eye out for any unfortunate creature who may need my help. Often, I will save a worm or two that I see in a puddle of water. G-d forbid! I can’t have one drown! It bothers me to the core to walk by one without helping it. What if I was that worm? I’d want someone to help me. And if there are large numbers of drowning worms, I easily become overwhelmed and feel guilty I couldn’t help them all. I know! I’m talking about a worm here. There is just something about animals (and worms) that bring the “weirdness” out of me. There is a squirrel who lives in a tree in our backyard. When she sits on a tree limb that is close to our fence, I always say, “Hey squirrlley! How yah doing?” Now, I know I’m “weird” but I fully understand the animal is NOT going to answer me. I just think it’s rude to be looking at each other and at the very least one should say hello.

Here’s the thing when it comes to other living things. I don’t like to hurt any of them even when they are in my house. If even a bug is in my house, I will go to great lengths to try to capture it to take it outside. There have been times when in the process of saving it, I accidentally killed it, and in those cases man do I feel terrible. I can’t help but think what if I were that creature? I wouldn’t want to be squished. Heaven’s no! That’s also why I feel even worse when I’ve tried to save it. Once, I volunteered  to help our veterinarian hospital by taking care of two birds that were rescued. Once they are nursed back to health, they are re-released back into the wild. Well, folks, I accidentally killed one of them. It was terrible. Needless to say, I never did that again.

But, it’s not only animals who bring the “weirdness” out of me. Nope, not at all. I’m proud to say my “weirdness” is non discriminating. Get this- when I am in a public place and I see someone I know (but I can’t remember their name), I will go right up to that person and start rattling off a list of personal facts about them. Yes, I know. Most people would either walk away until they remembered that person’s name or  go up to the person, say hello and even say something like, “Where do I know you?” Not me, though. Instead without meaning to I scare the shit out of people (especially since in most cases they don’t remember me). I don’t mean to scare them and sadly I don’t even think about what I am doing-obviously. In my head I’m trying to remember their name through the facts I remember about them. However, I understand I shouldn’t be saying those facts out loud and certainly NOT to the person. But, I don’t think about that until after I’ve scared the hell out of them.  One time when I was in a local bookstore I saw a woman who I had recognized. I couldn’t remember her name which bothered me. But instead of going up to her and introducing myself I chose to walk right up to her and say, “Don’t you have two children? A boy and a girl? Doesn’t your husband work at the so and so company and y’all vacation in Florida every summer?” Yes, well, I’m sure you can only imagine the look on that woman’s face. She didn’t have a clue who I was and how I had so much personal information about her. Typically, it’s my own partner, Carol, who will tell me what I’ve done and only then will I think to introduce myself.  However by that point I’ve freaked the person out so much they just want to get away from me.

And folks, my people “weirdness” gets better! Once when I was taking a summer trip to Israel I was on one of those really large planes. You know the ones that have a row of seats to the right and left and one down the middle. Well, during this trip I was sitting towards the back and was in an isle seat on the right hand side. Not that it really matters for the sake of this story but for whatever reason I had to tell you. Anyway because I hated to fly, I got very very nervous before and during the flight. So as soon as I got on the plane I took my dramamine to help me relax. I fell asleep and woke up about three hours into the flight. When I woke up I noticed I couldn’t find my eyeglasses. I began to panic because they were my only pair and I needed them to see. I began sorting through my things on the floor in front of me but I couldn’t find them. The people around me noticed I was panicking so they asked how they could help. Before too much time had passed I had at least 20 people helping me search for my glasses. The longer time passed without me finding them the more nervous I got. After 15 minutes and still not finding them I got out of my seat and started looking on the floor around me. But, I wasn’t alone. There were those other 20 people also looking with me. As I was standing in the isle bending down to look under a passenger’s seat, a woman who was helping me search approached me. She stopped to ask me what the glasses looked because she wanted to get the flight attendant to make an announcement over the intercom. With great frustration because the woman had stopped me from my search I rudely told her, “My glasses are orange and are shaped like cat eyes.” Just as I started to turn away from her to continue searching, the woman said, “So, they aren’t the eyeglasses you are wearing?” Just as she said that I could feel the blood rushing to my face. OH NO! I had been wearing them the entire time!? How did I not know that? Well, I had to think quickly. I couldn’t have all of those people thinking I was an idiot! After all I had another 5 hours on the plane with them. So, I turned around and looked at the woman and said, “Gosh, no! I am looking for my spare pair that look just like the ones I’m wearing.” I then said, “But at least I have these if I can’t find my other pair.” She had to know I was a total idiot. First of all, my beet red face had to give it away and second, as soon as she pointed out I was wearing the glasses she could clearly see my entire body relax. I couldn’t believe I had 20 strangers frantically looking for the very glasses I was wearing. OY! Only me!

Another time during one of my trips back to the States from Israel I had to sit in the middle seat. I hated to be trapped but the flight was packed and I had no choice. I was out of dramamine, so when I noticed the headphones and TV, I thought that would be a good distraction for me. When I put the headphones on I looked for the right buttons on my chair to change the TV channels and to make the sound louder on my headphones. I started to panic when I realized the TV worked but my headphones didn’t. The thought I’d be on the flight for 8 hours with no distraction sent me into a total panic. I frantically started pressing the volume button (as if that was somehow going to make it work). Next thing I knew the gentleman to my left (who was sitting on the isle seat) jumped out of his chair all while trying to get his head phones off of his head. He had been resting in his seat while listening to music. My first thought when I saw him “crazily” jumping out of his seat was lucky me to be sitting next to a weirdo with out being able to use the damn TV. Just as soon as I had thought that, it dawned on me what I had done. I had been pressing his volume button! I felt terrible. Here was this seemingly nice older man (probably in his late 60‘s) relaxing and I with one push of a button scared the shit out of him. Who was the weirdo then? Yep, that would be me! Once again, only I could manage to do such a thing.

Now as if all of those things weren’t enough, how about this? It is not uncommon for me to be wearing the same clothing whenever you see me (of course with a wash or two in between). And it’s not uncommon for me to leave my house wearing a piece of clothing inside out and/or backwards.  In fact I will go through the entire day before Carol notices and points it out to me. The sad part is I have no idea I’ve done it until she tells me. Now when I was in college and was taking art classes, I purposely wore my shirts inside out. Because I inevitably ruined my clothes in the art studio (getting paint on them or whatever other chemical was in the studio) I tended to wear the same clothes over and over again. So, when the outside of my shirt was full of stains, I was known to flip the shirt inside out and continue to wear it. In fact before Carol and I were dating I remember her coming up to me during painting class to tell me I had my shirt inside out. I will never forget the look on her face when I told her I was aware my shirt was inside out. She was shocked I’d admit doing it on purpose (because of stains on the other side).  At the time I didn’t see where it was so weird. Having no washer or dryer I was only preserving my clothes. So, what is my excuse today? Why do I continue to wear the same clothing? Well, what if I said my excuse today is I like to keep the amount of laundry down. Don’t believe me? You’re right. I have no reason except I am comfortable. I like my one outfit and that’s that. As far as why I wear my clothing inside out, well, sadly, I can’t explain. These days I don’t do it on purpose so I must admit it’s very disconcerting.

And as if all of what I have told you so far wasn’t enough to prove my “weirdness” to you, I’m certain this next part will certainly convince you. Get this- while I’m sleeping I will yell all kinds of obscenities. I swear to you I am completely asleep and I have no knowledge of what I’m doing. I’m serious. I have witnesses! My son has woken me up on several occasions so that I’d stop. The other night Carol said I was yelling (in my sleep), “G-d damn, fucking ass hole!” And get this- she said according to what I was saying it was all over a mop. A mop! Really? Come on folks! How “weird” is that?!  Now listen, I am no angel and I do use a few colorful words now and then but the words I use in my sleep and how I use them are by no means what I ever would think to use in my waken state.  Imagine the looks I get from my friends and family when I’m telling them what might happen during the night when I am spending the night with them or if they are at my home. At first I think they believe I am exaggerating. However, once they hear me they realize I was not.  Sadly, I often don’t disappoint (in proving them wrong) as more often than not I give quite a rousing show. Ask my step daughter who just recently spent the night with us. Folks I was sleeping upstairs and she downstairs and apparently she heard me very clearly!

Here’s the thing. It’s not as if I wake up in the mornings and say, “OK, MaLea, what “weird” things can we do today?” Here’s the thing. I know I could excuse my turrets in the night (as Carol calls it) because after all I can’t help what I say when I’m asleep. But then, what’s my excuse during the day time when I’m fully awake? Can’t make up any excuses for those situations.

Take me cooking for example- It never fails something dramatic happens whenever I’m in the kitchen cooking. Once I was making pancakes. I had placed the flour mixture in the bowl and was walking it to our stove. Now folks, our kitchen is literally about 7 feet long and 3 feet wide. Me saying I was walking it to the stove meant I was taking literally one step over. Well apparently that was all I needed for the next thing to happen. As I took my one step I seemed to have slid on something slippery on the floor. As I was sliding I felt the bowl wanting to fall out of my hands. I was worried I was going to drop the bowl on the floor and break it. As it started to slip out of my hands I had a brilliant idea. I’d just give the bottom of the bowl a little push towards the stove (hoping it would land neatly there). But, why would that happen? Instead of pushing the bowl towards the stove I ended up throwing it towards the ceiling. Luckily as the bowl was coming back down I was able to catch it so I was able to avert that disaster. However, I only caught it after the bowl had flipped upside down once and spilled the entire contents onto the stove, floor and me.  Carol must have walked into the kitchen just seconds after it happened. She took one look at me and the floor and said, “Good Lord, MaLea! What the heck happened here?” Before I could answer she replied, “Never mind. Whatever it was I’m sure it was done in perfect MaLea form.” And to that she was most definitely correct.

Oh and listen to what I did last week. I was walking my dogs and I passed a house that I have admired for years. Carol and I love the 1950’s/60’s style and this house was the epitome of that time period. I had often daydreamed that we had bought that house and of course lived happily ever after. Well, you can only imagine how shocked I was when I saw a bull dozer demolishing it. I stopped in front of the house and while staring at what was happening I stood frozen in disbelief. But of course in my MaLea fashion, I didn’t stop there. As I stood there I said, “Who’s the idiot to have such a great house torn down?!”  I hadn’t realized I said it out loud until I noticed a woman (with her two young children) standing to the right of me. She gave me a wave in such a way as if to say, “Hello! I’m the idiot.” I smiled at her, gave a tug on my dog’s leashes and proceeded walking. Whoops!

And folks, believe it or not my “weirdness” continues. Carol and I had gone to her parent’s house. I was driving. When we got there, I got out of the car, grabbed my purse and proceeded to head to the house. As I was Carol said, “MaLea, don’t you want to take the keys out of the ignition?”  If that’s not enough I on a daily bases lose my keys and my cell phone. Also, I worry incessantly. Because of that Carol has banned me from reading the labels on medicine bottles about the side effects. The fact is I will psychosomatically have one of the reactions if I do.  Meanwhile, I don’t have to read a label to take my worry overboard.  Oh no, not at all. I can have a pain in my arm or leg and before you know it I’ve made it into something catastrophic. I must give credit where credit is due and that would be to my wonderful, imaginative brain.

Listen, I’m sure you are thinking, “I wonder when she knew she was “weird”?” That’s a fair question to ask. If I am to be honest with myself I suppose I have always known but I didn’t have a name for it. When I was about 9 years old I remember my mom telling me, “MaLea, you beat to a different drum. You’re different than other people. Know that’s OK and never let other people put you down for it.” At the time I didn’t have a clue what she was telling me. In my early 30’s I thought I had it figured out. Then, I thought she was referring to me being a lesbian and with my partner we have a child who we raise in the South and in the Jewish religion. But, that wasn’t it. Now in my 40’s I have realized my own mom was actually trying to tell me I was “weird, kooky” (of course in a loving motherly way) and I just needed to embrace who I was.  Momma, where ever you are in heaven, thank you! Alright, I may be “weird” but I’m not dumb. Of course my mom was referring to me being a lesbian but I’m sure she saw my “weirdness” as a small child too and suspected I’d have to deal with that as well. I’m sure she knew that it too wouldn’t be easy. And truth be told, it wasn’t. There have been times where those crazy, “weird” things I do upsets me because I know they have kept and keep me from many normal things in life. I know they have caused many obstacles in my life and have kept me from certain successes I wanted. Listen, do you remember having a toy when you were a kid where you would take a specific shaped block and stick it into the same shaped hole? So, if you had the square block, you’d stick it into the square hole. Well, I have to admit I often feel like a square block trying to be shoved into the round hole. I just don’t fit. TO me the round hole represents the normalcy that is expected in life, in society. And no matter how much I try to shove myself into that round hole, I can’t ever seem to fit.  So often I wish it wasn’t necessary for me to fit. Why can’t we just co-exist? Why can’t there just be an understanding of our differences and from there we utilize the talents that come from both? Unfortunately that isn’t how life works, is it? Here’s the thing. I am not against conformity and I do see an importance for it. But, try being the square in a round world. How can one conform to a world they can’t fit into or understand? Just today I heard someone say, “Everyone has a talent and a special ability. It’s about finding that specific talent and fitting it into the larger society.” That made perfect since to me. I have to stop trying to fit my entire (square) self into the (round) world because it clearly doesn’t fit. Instead I need to find a smaller (square) part of me. I don’t know how in the hell I’m going to do that but maybe it can open up some new options for me. I hope it will allow me some peace with who I am allowing my “weirdness” to work as an advantage instead of what has been a disadvantage.

I, MaLea Perkison Jr., hereby admit without question that I am most definitely “ADHD”.

 

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When I fly, shit happens

OK, so I HATE to fly on an airplane. I always have even though I’ve travelled by plane to Israel, Europe and all over the US. And because of my fear I always seem to make many of the trips uneventful. Let me give you an example. I was heading to Israel for my fourth time. I flew to NY from Atlanta. It was a fairly short flight so I was afraid to take my Dramamine too soon because it made me sleepy. So, I was a basket case worrying the entire time. My brain wouldn’t stop with these horrible thoughts. One was I was acting out the very documentary that would be done about me when my plane crashed. You know those ones where they introduce you to the characters before they get on the plane so you feel you know them by the time they die. I just knew that was going to be me and my insides were yelling,”Don’t get on that plane!” You know, in the same way you yell at the girl who runs upstairs when she’s being chased by a man with a chain saw.

Anyway, by the time I got to NY to get my flight to Israel, I was a nervous wreck. I just wanted to board my plane and take my Dramamine so I could go to sleep. However, the Israeli airline doesn’t move so quickly. It would be another 2 hours of my brain coming up with scenarios of how I was going to die on the plane before I could board. About 45 minutes before my flight I went ahead and took the Dramamine to help me relax a bit.

Finally, when they announced my section on the plane could board, I couldn’t wait to get settled and take a little nap. The Dramamine was taking effect and I was getting very drowsy. When I entered the plane I looked around to take mental notes of the emergency exists and devised in my head how I would escape a plane crash (now I understand that is more than likely not possible but creating even a fictitious plan was helpful to me, OK?).

The plane was huge with three rows of seating and even an upstairs. Since I was in the back of the plane I was able to board first, so I made it to my seat and got settled fairly quickly. By the time the plane took off I was out like a light.

Three hours later I woke up to glass clinking and a flight attendant asking, “Drink please?” I was discombobulated and still groggy from the Dramamine but definitely a lot more relaxed. Since I couldn’t go back to sleep I thought it would be a perfect time to look at a magazine I had brought with me. As I reached under my seat to get it, I noticed things were blurry. Not thinking it might be because of the Dramimine and still being tired, I panicked(I’m sure you can see by now that was not difficult for me to do.). That’s when it dawned on me I must have taken my glasses off when I was sleeping. Where did I put the glasses? I frantically started searching in my bag for them. This was the first time I didn’t bring a spare pair with me. What was I going to do? I needed to find those glasses. The two people sitting next to me saw I was frantically looking through my bags and asked what was wrong. I told them I had lost my eye glasses. They asked me for a description to which I said,”They are orange and shaped similar to the pointy 1960’s glasses.” They were so nice and began looking through their bags to see if they may have fallen in them. A man walking down the isle going to the restroom saw the three of us looking for something so he asked if we were OK. The person next to me told him I had lost my eye glasses and they were orange. So, the guy in the isle started looking by seeing if they were in the isle anywhere. As he was looking the people sitting in front of us and behind us asked the man in the isle what was wrong. When he told them I had lost my eyeglasses and they were orange they began to help in the search. With in 20 minutes I literally had 50 or more people helping me search for my eyeglasses.

I couldn’t sit in my seat any longer knowing my glasses were lost. I couldn’t believe I had more than 50 people looking for a pair of bright orange glasses and not one of them could find them. I figured they were all inept and I just needed to go on a search of the back of the plane myself. I went into the isle and got on my hands and knees to look. I was determined I was going to find them. When I didn’t find them I stood up and tried to rethink my steps when I got on the plane. As I was trying to think a woman kept trying to talk to me. I was so annoyed with her because every time she asked me a question I’d lose my train of thought and have to start all over. I ignored her but the woman was determined to get my attention. She tapped me on the shoulder and asked, ” What do your eyeglasses look like?” By this point I really was in a panic. I had absolutely no time for this woman but I answered her and said a bit rudely, “Lady, they are bright orange and I can’t believe not one person can find them. It’s not like people choose to have multiple pairs of eyeglasses bright orange.” As I continued to rant and rave the woman cut me off and said, “And you are sure they are not the orange pair of eyeglasses you are wearing?” Just as her words soaked into my thick head, I could feel the warmth of embarrassment hit me all over and just knew my face became as red as my hair. My entire demeanor changed. It was as if someone popped my bubble and deflated me.

I thought to myself what an idiot I was to have the entire back of the plane looking for the very pair of glasses I was wearing. And I don’t mean I was wearing them on the top of my head either. I had them on my face and I never noticed I was using them to see and search for my subbosidly lost eyeglasses. How in the hell was I going to get out of this one? However, in my oh so witty 24 year old way I responded, “Oh my gosh, no. I have two pair of orange glasses. The orange pair I was looking for are my spare but I need them if something happens to this pair that I am wearing.” The entire time I am looking at the lady and thinking how dumb I was. The lady was very kind and reassured me I at least had one pair of eyeglasses and would just need to be vigilant with keeping up with them. I thanked her for her help and went to my seat.

As I sat there I reflected on what I had just done. Aside from being terrified to fly, I was also the classic ADHDer. I couldn’t believe with that combination I was able to get that many people worried for me and searching for the very item I wearing. And the fact the glasses were bright orange, how could no one have noticed they were on my face? Once I got over the embarrassment I began to chuckle. Man, those people sitting around me must have thought I was a nut case. But, when thinking about what I had done I knew this would be a humorous story to tell one day. And sadly this is only one of many.

 
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Posted by on July 10, 2011 in abusive fathers

 

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